Carpe Diem
by A.N. Clara
Summary: Arthur takes an interest in a stranger that crosses his path completely by chance on a stormy afternoon. Once he meets Alfred, an energetic twenty-something with a bad habit of being late, he finds himself changing his view on everyday life as Alfred encourages him to live each day to the fullest. Human AU, USUKUS. Rated M for smut
1. Chapter 1

It was on a dreary, rain-ruined day that I first saw you. I was sitting at the café on the corner of West and Main—you know the one, with the yellow door and the crooked sign I never brought up, though it bothered me to no end. Neither of us paid attention to the other at first; why would we? You were just another face in the crowd, and I a filler for the background of your theatrical life. I was unaware of the result that seeing you would cause, and now that I think about it, I should have known that you were special.

For a while the rain had subsided and the sun peered out from behind the clouds, something of a good omen for anyone who had to commute to work. You had thought that it was safe to venture outside, but began to sprint as the downpour resumed without warning, hands clutching on to a sodden newspaper over your blond hair. The shoes you had on were drenched as you tread through a pothole full of muddy water. That made you pause long enough to drop the paper in defeat and curse at the faulty road, animatedly gesturing at the inanimate objects that upset you.

Basking in the warmth of my tea, inhaling its sweet scent deeply as though it alone would wake me, I smirked at you, chuckling internally at your misfortune. I thought about how difficult it must have been for you, not an inkling of guilt in my mind whatsoever, as I took a sip of the liquid in my cup.

After several seconds of stomping your feet on the ground like a tantrum-throwing toddler, I saw you sigh, your shoulders slumping forward. You weren't as miffed as you were beaten down. I wish I would have known that the world had tossed you aside back then. Maybe I would have ran out and offered you my coat instead of laughing at your misery and how charming you were when you got mad. I didn't know that you were crying, I swear it. The rain concealed it so well, and even when your body trembled as the sobs began, I brushed it off, assuming that the cold must have had you shivering.

Just like that, you turned away from me so that I could watch as you went, breaking into a swift jog. I smiled a little, half-hoping you would eventually find happiness since the morning had been negatively eventful. I wished that things would look up for you and then pushed all thoughts of you out of my head, presuming that I would never see you again.

As I resumed the mental list of what I had to accomplish, my tea did not seem as amorous to me anymore. It was weak and already getting cold—I should not have trusted that an American could make a decent spot of tea. I didn't know how I did not realise what a terrible cup it was before. Then again, your mere presence had always made me see things in a different light. Now that I have had time to reflect, I never got the chance to properly thank you for making life seem so alive.

Every night for over three months, I dreamt about you. At first you only appeared as I thought you were; a shadow, a passerby in a sea of others. I did not realise that you were even there until I thought about it later. As time passed, you became more and more tangible, gradually taking over a bigger part of the picture as though you demanded that I recognised your importance. More often than not, you played simple characters that lacked development, aiding in helping move the scene along, but serving no higher purpose. Sometimes you were a waiter, others a passenger on the train, and once you were the best man at my wedding to a women I thought I loved. I'll admit that you were a welcome addition to my fantasies.

After I woke, there would be a smile on my face, and I could never place why. I did not even know you. Everything I thought I knew was a figment of my imagination, from your dazzling white smile and the delicate, tinkling laughter I heard frequently, to the way your skin felt as it brushed mine. All of it was fabricated out of the memory of your face and the mannerisms of countless others that I had unconsciously thrown together. Yet I didn't care that you were some fantastical Frankenstein. I had loved you all the same.

It was on my birthday almost four months after I first saw your face that we finally met. You were running late as you always were. If only you had the good sense to watch where you were going, you would have darted right by instead of straight into me. The force about knocked me over, you were so strong. As I prepared to call you every foul name I knew, I looked up to see the blushing, horrified expression you wore and realised that you were literally the man of my dreams.

Your messy blond hair shone like sunshine on the overcast day, a single strand in the front sticking up for some odd reason. With a frenzied hand, you readjusted your glasses which had nearly fallen off in the collision, and the other clutched onto my shirt in order to steady us both. There was a pause as I was baffled to have found you completely by chance and I swore I saw a spark of curiosity in your eyes once you had time to register what you ran into. Your eyes were bluer than the most beautiful ocean and more radiant than I could ever hope to be.

"I'm so, so sorry, dude. I am such a major klutz!"

"It's quite alright, lov–" I, too, flushed, realising my mistake. I was so accustomed to seeing you that it hardly felt like our first meeting. "It was my fault. My apologies."

It truly was your fault, but I was not about to admit that. You knew the truth anyway. I was amused by how embarrassed you were, stuttering out an apology that wasn't needed. Midway through your sentence you realised I wasn't listening, just smiling. The words fell off your tongue rapidly so that you could get out what you needed to say. Were it anyone else, I would have been easily annoyed by your loud, obnoxious—and may I add—improper language. However, I was thrilled that I finally knew what your voice sounded like.

"Really, it's fine. No harm done...?"

You looked mortified, having forgotten to give me your name. "Alfred! My name, I mean. Alfred Jones."

"A pleasure to meet your acquaintance, Alfred. I am Arthur Kirkland."

For the first time in reality, I saw your smile and my heart sped up like I had been the one running. I instantly knew that I was in love with you. All I could do was stare, transfixed by my realisation, thinking about what it could possibly mean. I needed to reflect over a nice cup of tea. Honestly, I dreaded the coffee you Americans were accustomed to drinking, but I figured that you would enjoy it, so I used it as an excuse to ask you out, worried that I would miss my opportunity if I didn't come up with something soon.

"Would you perhaps like to go for some coffee?"

Though I had meant at a more convenient time, you grinned and nodded excitedly. "Yeah, sure! I was on my way to… but you know what, I can skip it."

Trying to keep the faint smile off my face, I could not believe that lame pickup line actually worked. "Well, alright, then."

We conversed about pleasant things for a while, neither of us knowing where we were going while forgetting about where we should have been. You had a cheery disposition and were more boisterous than I would have imagined. I had you figured for the shy, quiet type; however you proved me wrong as you ranted on and on about your favourite rock band that was touring soon. I cherished every word you spoke. After several minutes of this, you broke off suddenly, asking me if you were talking too much. It was evident that you were nervous, about as much as I was. I assured you that your rambling was not so overwhelming that it irked me. You grinned again.

You weren't the most level-headed person I'd ever met, but I quickly discovered that you had a kind heart and the desire to be everyone's hero, just like the ones you read about in comic books as a child. A tragic past lingered behind your warm smile and ambitious nature. When I asked about your parents, you tried to shrug off the question. I did not push you because it was obviously a touchy subject. The conversation lulled a bit.

"It's just that I didn't know my parents," you said finally. "My older brother raised me, but we had sort of a falling out once I graduated high school. I wanted my independence. He wanted to control me. So I left. I haven't seen him since."

Before we could lapse into an uncomfortable silence, I shared more about myself. "My father was a raging alcoholic and my mum died shortly after I turned twelve. I lived with my cousin, who is a complete arse, by the way, just so I could get away. He was always comparing the two of us—who had been with more women, could drink more, and the like—making me feel like I was less than he was. When I left for university, I moved here."

The little café with the yellow door and the crooked sign crossed our path and since we had no set destination, I suggested that we take a table inside, you agreed. We sat at the only available table by the window that overlooked busy Main Street, taking a few moments to people watch, adjusting to the unpleasant change in topic. After a mother strolled by with her infant in a carriage, smiling down at him with so much love I could hardly stand it, I glanced at you, and found that you were enthralled by the simplistic display, smiling sadly at her. You turned back to me like the longing wasn't in your heart, that the deep yearning for your own mother was not tearing you to shreds on the inside.

As you opened your mouth to speak, a rather rude waitress interrupted you, leaning with her elbows on the table in an obvious attempt to flirt with you, batting her fake eyelashes repeatedly. She was beautiful with fiery hair, and young—clearly not my cup of tea—though I was worried that she could have been yours. I rolled my eyes, but you didn't seem to even notice her. You leaned away from her to smile at me, something devious in your brilliant blue eyes.

"What will you have, handsome?" She made sure you had a full view of her breasts. I internally scoffed at how _American_ the twit was.

"My boyfriend wants coffee, black," you said with enthusiasm. "And I'll have… an Earl Grey tea. That sounds totally awesome."

The waitress's face dropped and she stood up like an actual person. She looked disappointed to say the least. I stifled my laughter with a cough as you continued grinning at her expectantly. None of us said another word. After she scribbled down our order, she walked away, the spring that was present in her step before gone without a trace. You smirked at me like you deserved an award for being so terribly cliché. I was secretly glad you did that, even if that made me unsure as to whether that meant you were interested in men, and more importantly, interested in me.

"She does that every time I come in. I think she needs a new hobby."

"I am sorry to disappoint you, but I don't drink coffee, Alfred."

Your smile became cleverer in nature. "I know, dude. The coffee is mine. The tea is for you. Don't look surprised, Artie, you're totally British!"

I didn't bother to question why you switched our orders and simultaneously hid my cringe at the god awful nickname you called me. You did not seem to be the logical type as I was, so I figured it was better to leave it be. There were more pressing matters at hand. I went out on a limb. "What does your boyfriend do?"

"My ex was into video games, I guess. He was kind of a deadbeat. What about your… girlfriend?"

"Ah, yes, my boyfriend and I split up last year when he moved to Canada and I stayed here."

There was a hopeful gleam in your electric blue eyes, at least, I assumed it was hope, or perhaps I had wished that it was. I now know that it was something close if not the real thing, which still makes me smile at the memory of our first date. That is what you called it, anyway, the fated meeting we had on the intersection of 3rd Avenue and Main Street. It was mere blocks from where I saw you crying in the rain, though I still had no idea that that is what you had done. I could not imagine you ever being melancholy with your cheery outlook on life. You beamed so brightly that it put the sun to shame.

"Well, that's fantastic!"

I looked at you incredulously. "How is that in any way fantastic?"

"Oh… um, you know, bro…" Face flushed a timid pink, you were at a loss for an explanation and your sentences ended on a high note like a question. "Long distance relationships suck?"

"Yes, I suppose they do."

The slutty waitress returned bearing our drinks and she set mine down a bit too forcefully, which caused much of the coffee to spill over the rim, yet the tea, that was actually mine, remained perfectly intact. _I wonder why_, I thought with a roll of my eyes. You promptly swapped the cups as she turned away with a pout, not even bothering to fake an apology for her atrocious behavior. Then is when I understood what you had done. You didn't seem too bothered by her, taking a large gulp of what was left in your mug.

"Told you she does this all the time." You took another long, slow sip, looking at the tabletop. "I'm the hero," you said smugly with your bottom lip still pressed to the mug.

I chuckled dryly, to make you think I was not engrossed with you, to push you away, though the gesture was much appreciated. The dilemma was that I wasn't sure if I could handle letting you close only to have you ripped away. There was something between us, an inexplicable connection, no reasoning behind why I had grown attached to someone I had just met. I felt mad, wanting you as badly as I did and having nothing to show for it. My feelings appeared to be entirely one-sided at the time.

After arguing over who would pay, you leapt up, heading straight for the door, and I thought that I had driven you away with my foul mouth and equally unpleasant attitude. You waltzed up to that airhead that called herself a server at one of her other tables and handed her enough to cover the check, coming back only to grab my hand and yank me out of my seat with that inhuman strength you possessed. I cursed at you, demanding that you explain what it was you thought you were doing. I did not receive an answer.

When you laughed, it was in no way delicate nor proper as I had dreamt it would be. Actually, in all honesty, I found it as obnoxious as your overwhelming personality, but I thought it was equally as endearing. Your cackle pervaded the otherwise silent café and followed us onto the street. The sunlight caught your golden hair and I instantly forgot about how annoyed I was with you. You were smiling again, showing me your brilliantly white teeth. Everything about you was perfect. Tall, tan, and handsome, I could not imagine that someone such as yourself simply came into being that flawless. Even your eyes appeared too blue, too bright, to be real. I blushed when you caught me looking at you.

"Next she would have spilled your drink on you. I wanted to leave before she did. That would have ruined our date!"

"D-date?"

"Yeah, dude. You're the one that asked me out! I had a totally awesome time, but I've really gotta get going. I'm, like, _really_ late now."

I suppose I looked disappointed because you cupped my face with your hand and brought our lips together. All of the blood in my body rushed to my cheeks in that moment and I was afraid that you could feel the heat radiating off of my skin. The kiss was faint, so light that I was left unsatisfied, but I was not expecting even that much and was pleasantly surprised. You burst into a grin once we parted. My face was on fire, ears and neck prickling painfully, and I glanced at something behind you as to not look you in the eye. For some reason, you took this to mean that you could kiss me again, pressing harder this time. I could not complain about that. Still, I blushed furiously.

"I'll call you, Arthur. Thanks for the coffee."

"You paid for it, idiot."

"Yeah, but only 'cause I ran you over. I'm glad I did." Only then did you blush slightly. "Oh, I need your number!"

I readily gave you the information, my mind still reeling from our kisses. "Thank you for everything, Alfred."

"No problem, dude. I gotta go. I'll see you around!"

You were far too enthusiastic about everything, sprinting about wherever you went and talking people's ears off like some brat experiencing a sugar rush. Nonetheless, I could not help loving this version of you even more than the one I had manufactured. Perhaps it was due to the fact that you were finally a real, living person and not the imaginary impression I had before. Maybe I was blinded by love. That was also a possibility.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: This update took an unreasonably long time to post. I took the story in a different direction than I had originally planned, and I am much happier with the outcome. I will try to post the next update much sooner.

* * *

To my surprise, you called later that night. I told myself repeatedly not to over think it, not to worry, not to concern myself with you any more than I had to. By supper, I had convinced myself that you really were not going to bother at all and that you were uninterested. The kisses had meant nothing. They were simply a gesture one was expected to make after a date. I was admittedly heartbroken before you so much as had a chance to pick up the phone.

I made an attempt to bake some scones after I had finished dinner since that usually brightened my day. When I say attempt, I mean that I was so distracted by you that they were horribly burnt. My whole kitchen nearly set fire. Thank you for that. Even jam could not make the normally delicious charred bits edible. The ruined pastries served only to dampen my already dark mood.

Deciding to do a bit of cleaning, my flat was immaculate within twenty minutes, but I could not stop arranging and rearranging the books on my shelves or straightening the picture frames on the walls. There was no point to it; you were not coming inside; you weren't even going to ring. I finally sat down on the loveseat with a cup of tea to quiet my concerns, picking up the latest novel I had started on. That did not work either. Nothing I did could sooth my frenzied thoughts.

After having to reread the page I was on three times before I realised that I was unable to focus, I set the book next to me, sighing exasperatedly. I should not have been so anxious. It was ridiculous! This wasn't a girl waiting for her date to the formal to arrive after he had obviously stood her up. It was only a call. Why was I so grossly invested in something that insignificant?

Sure, you were gorgeous, but there was more to it than that. There was something about you, an enigmatic quality that I could not place, and the more I tried to identify what it was, the further I seemed to get from it. I knew that I dreamt about you for a reason, perhaps it was destiny that we had met, though I was not entirely sure if I believed in such a thing. Losing you would have been devastating after I spent all of those months getting to know you in different ways. None of it compared to the real Alfred Jones and I wanted to keep you for as long as you would have me.

When my mobile rang sometime after dinner, I expected it to be a "surprise" check-in from my ex-boyfriend, Francis. Though we had broken up ages ago, he persistently phoned me just about every other week to ask how I have been and to make sure I wasn't cooking for myself. We still cared for each other as we always had, so I begrudgingly held my insults every occasion he took the time away from his current boyfriend to see to my needs. I hadn't heard from him in a while and figured that he would contact me sooner or later.

"Bonjour, Arthur! Joyeux anniversaire!" My suspicions were correct.

"Yes, hello, Francis. You are well aware I hate that."

"Oui, oui, I know. Are you going to be sulking around ze house like you do every year?"

I rolled my eyes and huffed, "I don't see why I wouldn't." _Especially since that idiot American is not going to call_, I added bitterly in my head.

"You should get out! I thought you moved away from me to see ze world? It broke my heart when you left. Don't waste this opportunity."

There was the sound of someone else in the background, he asked Francis a question to which he responded in rapid French. I could feel his words dripping enthusiasm and love, it was the new boyfriend I rarely heard about. Flirtatious giggles permeated the silence. My curiosity was limited at the moment and I did not implore as to what they were talking about. With you on my mind, it was difficult to focus on anything else.

"I will have to call you back, mon ami. I have some business to tend to. Au revoir."

Fully aware that the only thing he had to do was Matthew, I gladly hung up with him. Our conversations had not been very long lately but they occurred more often, due to the similar time zones between here and where Francis was staying in Canada, so it didn't bother me when he did things like that. Francis and I were no longer a couple, he could do as he pleased.

Just as I was carding a hand through my hair in agitation, having put thoughts of you off enough to think about something else for the first time in hours, my mobile began to ring again. I dreaded to answer. Perhaps it was my brother, who had managed to sober up enough to recall that something relatively important happens in the month of April, though I doubted it. With annoyance thick in my throat, I accepted the call without reading the number.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Arthur?"

It was you on the other end of the line. I had induced the idea that I would never hear your honeyed voice again, so every word you spoke was precious. Those three syllables, simple, without any deep meaning behind them had me falling hard and fast. How could I fall any farther, I wondered, after I swore I had already hit rock bottom?

Chewing at my lower lip, I suppressed a manly squeal, clenching my hands into tight fists and blushing something furious. At times I could act like such a silly little girl, fawning over boys as though this were a primary school playground. You asked if you had contacted the right number with a hint of panic in your voice. It sounded like you had expected me to purposefully give you the wrong number. I took a moment to compose myself.

"Y-yes! This is he. I was not expecting you to call so soon."

"Oh, sorry," you said dejectedly. "I missed you."

I had missed you, too–more than you could ever know. "How could you miss me already? You don't know me." My heart was in my throat as I waited for you to say something in rebuttal.

You chuckled loudly. "Trust me, bro, I totally miss you. I wanted to, uh, ask you out to dinner… if you'd like to go. Whadaya say?"

Suddenly I forgot how to breathe. My lips were twisted into a smile so wide it was painful, but I could not stop no matter how hard I tried. I knew I should have waited several moments before giving a reply so that I would not appear desperate or let on as to how much I cared for you. It wasn't in my nature to behave so rashly. However, I shot back my answer as quickly as the question had been asked.

"I would love to."

Relief flooded the phone with a long huff of air as though you had been holding your breath. I stifled a laugh with a cough. _As if I could turn you down_, I thought.

"Sweet! Do you have any plans for tonight?"

"Well, it _is_ my birthday…"

You interrupted me before I could go any farther. "Dude, why didn't you tell me before!? If you're not busy, I am definitely taking you out."

As desperately as I wanted to see you again, I had a habit of spending my birthday alone and avoiding all forms of celebration. It was a tradition I was not prepared to break, no matter how depressing, not when there was a bottle of Whiskey in my cabinet that would help me forget what day it was. Even though I knew it was a better offer, I had to turn you down.

"Thank you, Alfred. You can take me out this weekend since you already bought my tea today."

That was good enough for you. "If you say so! I'll pick you up at seven on Friday night. Text me later, okay?"

"Alright," I promised, grinning to myself like an idiot.

"Hey, Arthur." I replied with a gentle hum of interest. "Happy birthday."

"Thank you. Goodnight."

We hung up with each other and I allowed my thoughts to linger on the sound of your voice, how nervous you must have been to ring me. My heart was pounding out a drumroll, beating too fast to be healthy, but I could not bother to care when I felt so alive. Lighthearted and full of optimism, it truly was a happy birthday. Thank you for that, love. You made it the first best day of my life without knowing.

I disregarded the alcohol awaiting someone to drink it on the counter for the first time in four years, opting to turn in early instead. You visited me in my dreams, so in a way, I didn't spend yet another birthday alone. Though I cannot recall what occurred that night, I remember waking up just as happy. It was one day closer to Friday.

For the reminder of the week, I was distracted by you in one way or another. It was always at an inopportune time that you decided to text me something adorable, any little thing like a good morning or a silly question (no, I have not heard the joke about the Icelander and the fridge, by the way). My work suffered greatly as I frequently thought about you. I was not content with sitting at the same dull desk every day, shuffling around useless papers when I could be talking to you.

On my lunch break, you would insist to call and would talk far too much yet not enough. I felt that we were covering so much ground so quickly that there would be nothing left to say once we went on our date. You never ran out of things to say, however. Whether it was mindless anecdotes about UFO landings I affectionately called you an idiot for, that I secretly found amusing, or useless facts about the most arbitrary things, there was always something to talk about. I could have done without knowing how chewing gum was invented, but you were too charming to shut up.

"Seriously, though, Artie, you should have watched it! Captain America is like the coolest superhero there is. I can't believe you haven't seen the movies!"

We were back on the topic of superheroes, the only thing I actually dreaded talking to you about. I swore that you thought you were one with the way you tried to solve everyone's problems. The hero complex was as entertaining as it put me off, so I tolerated it for the sake of all the good I saw in you. For a long while, I listened to you drawl about your favorite superhero, ridiculously patriotic as always.

"But what movies do you like?"

I was interrupted by my co-worker who reminded me that lunch was over before I even had the chance to eat. She tapped the face of her watch when I just stared at her dumbly. "Oh! I'm sorry, Alfred. My break is over. I can't talk anymore. Goodbye."

"Bye! I lo–" you tried to reply as I swiftly hung up. I didn't think to wonder what you were going to say.

Work was tedious, to say the least. I was constantly checking the clock, especially now that my stomach grumbled every so often, anticipating the time when I could finally go home. Once five o'clock rolled around, I called you on my way home only to have you remind me that the following day was Friday. As if I could forget. I played it off once more, pretending it was no big deal, though I could tell you saw through my charade. We were both excited. There was no point in denying that.

"So," you began, drawing out the word, "we can't talk at all tomorrow."

"And why is that?"

"It's our first planned date!" Yes, of course, because that answered my question.

"You could say it is our first date. The other doesn't count."

You groaned. "Yes, it does! Anyway, for our _second_ date, it's supposed to be really special. What is so special about it if we already spent the _whole_ _day_ talking to each other?"

_Seeing you again, hearing your voice in person, everything_, I wanted to say.

I couldn't think of anything that would ruin our date. God forbid I talk to you on the phone. I would abide by your rule, however. What was a few hours without you? I had spent the better portion of my life that way, so it shouldn't have been all that difficult. By the next morning, I regretted thinking that. I missed you every second. Knowing that in a few short hours, not too long after I got off work, I would see you drove me mad. It was Friday for fuck's sake! We were going on our date today.

Francis rang shortly after work as I was pacing my flat to work off all of the nervous energy I created. I continued to walk the short distance from the kitchen to the door, back and forth, while I spoke with him. Our date was mere hours away and it was still far too early to get ready. He knew that something was bothering me. After I had given a handful of noncommittal answers to his usual questions about my wellbeing, Francis asked me what had me acting so strangely.

I stopped pacing for a moment. "I have a date."

"Oui? That iz wonderful, mon ami! But who would ever agree to date a stuffy man such as yourself?"

"Shut it, wanker! I'll have you know that Alfred asked _me_." I began to speed in a circle around the sofa, holding the phone too tightly.

"Why so anxious, then?" he asked.

"He's bloody perfect, that's why!"

"'ow so?"

"He's handsome, funny, cheerful…" I could go on all day about how even your flaws were charming.

Francis laughed to himself. "I suppose opposites do attract." Before I could snap at him, he was bidding me farewell. "I 'ope you have a good time zen, Arthur. I must go now. Au revoir!"

I didn't get to say goodbye. Francis was a busy man, so I understood he had little time for me even when he did ring. Our conversation left me with an hour before you were expected to arrive and I hopped in the shower, hoping the warm water would wash away my worries. That didn't work either. Even after I dressed to your vague specifications ("like, nice, but don't overdo it just for me"), I stood in front of the mirror for twenty minutes, brushing my hair this way and that until I gave up. Nothing I did at this point could fix my larger eyebrows or naturally messy hair. It was funny, I was never self-conscious about those things before.

Five minutes to seven, I locked up my flat and waited downstairs. You came around after eight, late, as I soon realised was typical of you, which had me in quite the mood by the time you decided to show up. I refused to ring you in case you had stood me up, scowling to myself, arms crossed over my chest on the bench outside of my flat. Too proud and heartbroken, I was ready to turn in for the night. It was a quarter past and I had given up on you.

"Wait, Arthur!"

I whipped my head around with my hand on the doorknob, ready to go inside in case I was mistaken. Surely enough, you were bounding across the street, looking dashing and flustered. With an agitated sigh, I ran a hand through my hair as you caught up with me. There was a frown on your face when you glanced at your mobile and realised how late you were. An apology was in order, but I was not about to hear your excuses, not when it was our first official date. I started inside.

"Arthur! Arthur, wait! I can explain. Please wait." You were close enough to reach out and touch me, but you thought better of it.

"What could you possibly say that would make up for this?"

"Just give me one more chance, please."

"Why should I?"

After a split second of hesitation, you begged, "It isn't my fault. Please give me another shot and I promise you'll understand."

You were over an hour late. You left me waiting outside, alone, on a Friday night. The sun had gone down forty minutes ago! It was our first date and you spoilt everything. There was no reason for me to give you another chance, not when you ruined the one you already had. But I was in love and I wanted to give us a shot. Hopefully I wouldn't regret it.

"Shut up and let's get on with it. You've already wasted my night."

"Arthur, I'm really–"

I grabbed your arm and began pulling you behind me. "Shut up."

"–sorry," you concluded anyway. "I promise I will make it up to you, I swear."

Rolling my eyes, I refused to speak another word to you so that you would know how displeased I was with your tardiness. I suppose it worked because your bottom lip was still stuck out in a pout several minutes later. You had let me down, but you knew that and seemed equally as upset with your actions as I was.

With the way you went on and on about how special this date was going to be, I at least expected dinner, or a movie perhaps. Instead of either of those things, however, I was surprised when we showed up at a local park. It was deserted. Normal people had better, more exciting things to do with their lives than go to the park on a Friday night. What were we, teenagers with nowhere else to go?

"Alfred, what in the hell are we doing here?"

You grinned sheepishly and stared at your feet. "Um… I made us miss our dinner reservation. I'm sorry."

"So you thought _the park_ was next best option?"

"C'mon, Arthur, it'll be better than sitting in a movie theatre. We'll have fun. I owe that to you."

Rolling my eyes, I waved you on. Far be it from me to let a weekend go to waste. You perked up at that, took hold of my hand, and began sprinting toward the pond, dragging me along behind you. I was growing tired of your excessive energy quickly. We stopped within a few meters of the water's edge where it lapped at the newly green grass, high from the frequent April showers. The grass beneath us was wet, too, and I grumbled about it while you smiled, asking why it truly mattered. I realized it didn't.

A string of streetlamps lit up the walkway that wrapped around the perimeter of the park, close enough so I could see your silhouette yet too far to make out any details. You laid down with your arms behind your head, staring up at the empty sky. I followed your example seeing as I had nothing else to do and was severely disappointed. At best, a handful of stars, dimmed from cloud cover and smog, glowed faintly in the black expanse above. The moon was hardly a sliver and cast no light. It reminded me of everything I hated about living in the city.

"God, this sucks," you chuckled.

I glanced at you as you grinned at me. "You're quite right. Why are we here, then?"

"I thought that everyone dreamed of going on a spontaneous star-gazing date where you talk about everything and nothing at all, looking at the beauty of the universe and sharing what you've seen with each other." You paused while I thought that over. "But I guess that was a terrible idea… We can go."

"No," I said a little too harshly. "No… let us stay awhile. Tell me what you see."

You launched into a ten minute story about how the sky in Colorado was so clear the sky looked like God had spilt glitter on it. More stars than you've ever seen in your entire life, you said. It was more picturesque than the view we had from the manmade bank and I loved hearing about it. Even in England I hadn't seen a sight quite like the one you described to me. I longed to see it too. When I asked if you would consider taking me there one day, you got quiet for a while. I didn't understand why.

After that, you returned to being cheerful.

I never knew someone who had such an optimistic outlook on life. Everything you said had a positive spin. Your car breaking down turned into an opportunity to exercise more and avoid traffic by walking to work. When your last relationship ended, it was absolutely for the best. I asked you if you ever wished that something in your life turned out differently. Your response: Everything happens for a reason.

"Besides," you continued, "if anything changed, I wouldn't meet you."

My heart swelled at the corny line. I had not forgotten that I was cross with you, but whatever the reason behind your tardiness must have been valid. Either way, I had to know. "Why were you late, Alfred?"

There was another odd silence that made me uneasy. "Please don't get mad at me, okay?" I made no such promise. "I forgot."

I sat bolt upright. "You _forgot? _How could you forget our first date!?"

"Second," you corrected before addressing the actual problem, sitting up slowly. "And I didn't do it on purpose! Sometimes I just… can't remember things. It happens a lot, not just with our date. I didn't think I could forget something this important to me."

"What do you mean by that?" I was frustrated more than I was angry.

"It just happens."

"'_It just happens_'? What's going on?" I shouted. I didn't mean to yell.

You were trying your best to explain the situation calmly. "I–"

"I swear to god, if you say it again–"

"I have cancer!" you exclaimed. Neither of us had time to process what you said before you began to ramble, leaving no time for me to react. You gestured toward your head with your hands as you talked. "It's an inoperable brain tumor–actually, several–all over. Sometimes I forget things like where I left my keys. But sometimes I forget the really important stuff. Like my birthday or our date.

"That's what happened when I met you. I forgot an important thing, an appointment. Well, I guess it isn't _that_ important because there is absolutely _nothing_ they can do about it. That is what I was running late for. But then I ran into you and I couldn't bear to sit in front of another doctor telling me exactly what the last said when I could be living my life with the really cute guy I almost killed on my way there."

You didn't smile, though the last part was an attempt at a joke.

"_That_ is what's going on. _That_ is what's wrong. And _that_ is why I can't take you anywhere with me, even though I desperately want to. Because I will be dead before then."


	3. Chapter 3

I had nothing to say. Your confession was worse than a punch to the gut, rendering me breathless and on the verge of tears. You tried to make me talk, begging me to say something, anything. The words wouldn't come. I could not express anything that I was feeling. Not the fury I aimed at God for bringing you into my life and ripping you away in the same moment, not the incredible hurt that manifested as physical pain in my chest, nor the disbelief that clouded my mind. I hadn't even been able to tell you how much I loved you.

You were worried about me. That's what really got to me. You were dying but only cared as to whether I was alright. I felt terrible for behaving so selfishly. All I could think about is how you would no longer be a part of my life. I had yet to consider your dreams and aspirations, how they would be affected by this. Someday I figured you would die, but not now, not this soon. We were supposed to be together for many years before either of us passed on. It wasn't fair. None of it made any sense.

"I shouldn't have done this, any of it," you murmured, cradling your head in both hands. "I shouldn't have asked you out or begged you to give me another chance. I _knew_ this was going to happen. I should have left you alone. Oh my god, Arthur, I'm so sorry."

My throat burned in that way it does when you're trying not to cry. "Don't apologise." It was barely a whisper.

"What?" You looked at me.

"Please, don't you ever apologise for something you haven't done wrong. You don't owe me that. If anything, I ought to be apologising to you." I laid back on the grass so you wouldn't see the tears rolling down my cheeks. "I am sorry, Alfred."

"You don't have to be sorry either. I should have done it all differently."

You laid next to me and held my hand. I squeezed yours tightly so that I could be sure you were still there. Neither of us dared to interrupt the silence that fell over the park. Even the crickets seemed to understand that we needed a moment, for they didn't dare chirp. The pond became still as glass. I choked back the sobs the best I could, hoping you didn't notice, knowing full well that you did. You let me have a couple minutes to mull it over. It didn't help.

"This is the part where you ask me a million questions," you said delicately as though it would offend me.

"L-like what?"

Taking a second to think about it, you shrugged. "I dunno, dude. Everyone usually asks me all kinds of stuff. 'When did you find out?' 'Is it bad?' 'Are you handling it okay?' 'How long do you have left?' That's the usual."

Of course I wanted to know all of that. I was afraid to ask. I was scared to hear the answers, so I didn't dare. "Just t-tell me what you want me t-to know."

"Um, I guess I'll start there. I found out mid-January of this year. You know, that week we had that really bad storm pass through? It started pouring once I hit Main Street when I was almost home. Kinda fitting, I think. It… wasn't a good day."

My heart ached. That is the day you got stuck in the rain, the first time I ever saw you. And I realised, after all of this time, that you were crying. I nodded, unable to share my thoughts with you.

"I didn't handle it well at all the first few months. It was so weird knowing I was going to die. Everyone reacts the same way when I tell them. 'But you're so young!' You know what, there are plenty of children in the world, definitely younger than me, going through the same thing. Age doesn't matter 'cept in the survival rate. And even then, in my case, it doesn't make a goddamn difference.

"So, yeah, it's bad. I have the worst headaches when I wake up. It feels like my head is splitting into a hundred pieces at the same time. Every morning I would complain to Mattie that the migraines were killing me, and he would say I was overreacting. That is how I ended up diagnosed—I went to see why they were so awful. I honestly wasn't expecting to receive the news that I was literally dying.

"Even with treatment, which I refuse to undergo, I wouldn't live more than a couple of years. Without it, the doctor says I have a few months, maybe over a year left. But that's okay. I mean, I'm totally not ready for it yet. It's just… I sorta like knowing, you know? Every moment is so precious to me now."

I listened to everything you had to say with a heavy heart, drying my tears with the heel of my hand. It was worse than I had originally thought, and my assumption was already bleak to begin with. When you showed up late for our date, I thought the worse that could happen would be finding out you didn't like me as much as I loved you. When I was wrong, I was really, truly wrong.

"Did I cover about everything?"

"I think so," I whispered. "Except about treatment. Why did you make that decision?"

You rubbed circles on the back of my hand with your thumb as though what was to follow would be even worse news. "There is, like, no chance of me going into remission. My doctor said the odds are close to nothing. I figure that I have some months left being me, right? If I started chemo and radiation, I would be ten times sicker and super miserable. I'd lose all of my hair and feel like shit all the time instead of for a few hours a day.

"Since I'm going to die anyway, I want to live it up while I can. My other brother, Mattie, doesn't seem to understand that. He was moving back to Canada when I told him, and then I wasn't going to go through treatment—he tried to get me to go with him, but this is my home. I wasn't going to leave so close to the end. He said he didn't want to watch me kill myself. He really couldn't stand to spend the time apart. I don't know why he thinks about it that way."

"I can see where he's coming from, but it is your choice." That was a difficult thing to say and though I meant every word, I wished you would reconsider. You smiled, glad I at least understood your decision if I didn't quite agree.

"Let's talk about something else. Tonight was supposed to be fun, remember? We can talk about this later. There's time." You sounded so sure of it, though you couldn't possibly know that. Maybe tonight is all we had left together. I settled on changing the subject, however, not wanting to upset you.

"Matthew wouldn't happen to have a boyfriend, would he? And his name is Francis?"

"Uh, yeah, he does. How did you guess?" you asked, seemingly grateful for an unrelated question. I internally laughed about what a small world we lived in.

"He's dating my ex I told you about—the one that went to Canada. We keep in touch, though. Matthew seems… really happy with him."

You nodded in agreement. "Yeah, he's a lot happier there than he was here. Huh. That's funny. My brother and your ex-boyfriend."

"I think so, too," I said with little humour.

We stared up at the gloomy night sky. I deemed it an appropriate setting. I tried to stop thinking about it, it was a lot to take in, but I couldn't. There were so many questions I had left. None of them pertained to the cancer; you said we could discuss that later and I believed we would. I wanted to know everything else about you in as little time as possible. If we didn't have years, I would cherish the months. I just had to sort them out before I assaulted you with a thousand questions all at once.

You pressured my hand, dragging me out of my thoughts. "Hey, I don't know about you but I'm starving, and I still owe you dinner."

I didn't think I could possibly eat after everything that happened. I was going to be sick just thinking about it. My clothes were damp and covered in grass stains, my hair even messier than it had started out when our date began. Plus laying on the ground had left me stiff. You weren't in any better shape. Neither of us was suited for going out, but you insisted with enthusiasm. I supposed I would have to eat eventually.

Just as you promised, we did have fun. No decent place would allow us in looking the way we did, so we took a booth at a run-down diner in the shadier part of the city as the clock approached the latter half of eleven. It didn't truly matter where we went. As far as I was concerned at that point, we could have wound up dining off the floor in a crack house and I would have enjoyed every minute I spent with you.

There was never a lapse in conversation, whether you were blabbering about your favourite video games or your adverse love for the horror movies that scared you out of your wits and sounded more like an abusive relationship than anything else. You were utterly ridiculous and annoying, detestable even. I clung to every word you said. You were so different from the other men I had dated in the past that I could not resist falling a little more in love with you and your awkward allure. Eventually, after several long minutes of an uninterrupted monologue, you realised that I had said relatively nothing all night, not that it bothered me.

"Oh, sorry, I talk _way _too much sometimes. I just can't help it! You know, Mattie says that it's part of my charm, but I don't see–" I raised an eyebrow at you. "And I'm doing it again. Sorry. It's hard to stop once I've started. What do _you_ like, Arthur?"

I was not nearly as interesting as you appeared to be, what with your wild adventures across the country that you shared with many of your intriguing mates. In comparison, I was just a boring bloke from the middle of nowhere, England. The fact that I was a foreigner to you was the only thing I felt was relatively remarkable about me. Even as I reluctantly went on to tell about my sedentary hobbies like reading, leaving out my love for needlepoint as I thought I ought to, I found that you were surprisingly absorbed in what I had to say. With a light blush dusting my cheeks, I paused mid-sentence.

"Why'd you stop?"

"I must be so boring to you. My life is not terribly exciting, not like yours."

"I just like listening you talk," you said matter-of-factly. "Please don't stop."

It was difficult to resist smiling at that. Slightly embarrassed, I picked up where I left off in the story I thought was incredibly boring that you seemed to like. The whole while, I was thinking about your condition. No matter what I did the idea was always in the back of my mind and it brought my mood down a bit. You noticed. After months of dealing with people's unwarranted apologies, odd glances, and overall aura of discomfort, I figured you would be able to know what I was thinking. I made an attempt for our sanity's sake to forget about it for the night. I couldn't.

As you were about to address the obvious, our waitress, a younger woman who lacked the proper manners to allow us to have a moment alone, delivered our food, and took her time to do so. She did not pretend to be even remotely cheerful for the time of night, asking if we needed anything else in a tone that hinted she wasn't listening. Surely she was displeased with having to work the late night shift on a Friday night. While I couldn't blame her, I was more annoyed than I should have been. You noted the angry glare I shot her and assured her that everything was "great". She gave a huffy answer under her breath I didn't quite catch as she shuffled away.

"What's with you and waitresses?" You found it rather amusing, it seemed.

I stabbed at an overcooked egg on my plate with a fork. "Is every waitress in America an obnoxious twit?"

"Dude, it's late. She's probably exhausted and ready to go home. Maybe she has an exam tomorrow that she's stressing over. This could be a thing she does to pay for college." You took a large bite out of your burger. After swallowing, you added, "She might have a kid at home that she's missing like crazy. Or a sick parent."

"Where do you come up with these notions?"

You shrugged. "Anything is possible. We forget that other people are people, too. They have problems and jobs and things they care about. I think,"—you smiled at me and I wondered how I could have gotten angry in the first place—"that we're all too hard on each other."

I never thought of it that way. You were right, of course. Every matter that pertained to people and personal skills in general fell under "Alfred is always right". I never figured out how you did it. How could you read a person like a book? Whereas I was never very good with people, you acted as though you could read their minds. Somehow you understood that everyone had flaws and many of them had good reason to, just as you and I did. I am not sure if I will ever see the world the way you did.

We finished our food between telling each other our life stories, not caring that it was cold and unappetizing. You talked about Matthew frequently, but never mentioned the other whose name I did not know. I was curious about him. Did he know about the cancer? If so, did he even care? Those questions were in the category we did not mention on this date. None of that made an impact on you either way. You were content with praising the sibling you cared for very much and I knew that he had to feel the same way about you.

By the time we decided to leave, it felt like only ten minutes had passed. It was nearly half past one in the morning. I wondered why the waitress continued glowering halfheartedly at us when she thought we weren't looking, and I didn't realise how late it had gotten until I was already back in my flat at a quarter after two. You walked me up the stairs and to my door like a gentleman ought to. We lingered in the corridor, neither of us wanting you to go.

"I couldn't possibly say goodbye now," I said with only half the melancholy I felt.

"It's not 'goodbye'." You leant against the wall. "It's… a chance to say a new hello."

"And just what was so bloody awful about the last one?"

With a smirk you brushed the pad of your thumb across my cheek. I crossed the couple of inches separating us to kiss you, clasping my hands behind your neck so you couldn't leave. Your touch was as comforting as it was disheartening, your strong hands on my lower back holding me close. You smiled against my lips and I was happy.

It crossed my mind that I didn't know how many kisses we would share, but I knew that every last one would be invaluable. I wonder if you were thinking the same thing. We were acting like it was our first kiss when we broke apart, cheeks darkened, breath bated. I was in primary school again, experiencing my first crush on another boy.

"Hello," you whispered when you pressed your lips against my forehead.

"I suppose I do like this one better."

"I think you'll like the next even more." You were grinning at your own cleverness and how seamlessly you won me over. "C'mon, you should get to bed. I can't begin to imagine how cranky you'd be without sleep."

I started to complain, but you shut me up with another kiss. It only worked for the moment. "I can't sleep."

"I'm, like, ninety-nine percent sure you can."

"I won't be able to. You're walking alone in the middle of the night," I reminded. "There's no sense in sending you out at this hour. Stay with me."

I couldn't let you go, not that I expected you to understand. There was not a single moment of my life I wanted to spend without you. Even while I slept, I needed to know you were there beside me, to have you within reach just in case your last breath came too soon. Perhaps the doctor was wrong, maybe he made a mistake. Tonight could be the last time I ever see you smile or hear you laugh. I would never get to watch your eyes light up at something that made you happy. _You can't leave me_, I cried internally.

"Hey, I'm a classy dude." You moved your hands up to grip my shoulders and I allowed mine drop. "I don't sleep with a guy on the first date, even if we're actually sleeping. Just stay on the phone with me until I get there, or until you fall asleep. Whichever comes first, you won't have to worry, okay?"

Reluctantly I agreed, seeing as you were dead set on walking home. I continued to grumble about it even as you gave me tender kisses of reconciliation, wedging the complaints in between, and hoping I could convince you to change your mind. Every excuse I came up with was shot down as quickly. Having realised I was not going to let it go, you dug the mobile out of your pocket and started to ring me. I answered, though I knew it meant I had lost, and pressed it to my ear.

"Hello," you chimed. I could hear your voice twice at once. For that I could smile. You began to back away slowly with a glum expression and I knew that you wanted to stay just as badly.

"It is getting terribly late."

"I think it's early now."

You had a point, but I was going to keep trying. "Then you ought to stay for breakfast."

"I'm not hungry." You waved while rounding the corner so that you were out of sight. "We ate, like, an hour ago."

"Coffee?" I couldn't hear you without the phone anymore. My heart sank into the pit of my stomach.

"No thanks. I don't think you have any, anyway." You were right about that.

"It is still a long way home."

"As far as you know, I'm almost there," you stated as though it were true. I sighed in agitation. "Go to bed, Arthur. I'm still here."

Dragging my feet, I entered the flat, locked the door, and started for bed. You narrated the journey as you went, commenting on particularly questionable dark alleys and pretending to be surprised by the abundance of passersby with debatable morals. That was not the least bit funny to me, though you seemed to think it was. I changed into my nightclothes and was about to finish brushing my teeth when you said something I didn't catch.

"Sorry, what was that?"

"I wanted you to know that I can't do this if you're doing it out of pity."

"You're being a bit vague. What do you mean?" I stuck the toothbrush in my mouth and let it stay there, anticipating a lecture of sorts.

"This—our relationship," you expanded. "You weren't supposed to find out about the cancer yet and I don't want you sticking around out of guilt or whatever. I hate to pretend that we can even be a thing when it's all a waiting game at this point.

"But I really like you, Arthur, and giving you up would be one of the hardest things I have ever done. I'm way too selfish to do something like that. That is why I want you to know that I care about you enough to let you go. I don't want to hold you back from living your life."

My stomach was churning. I had so much to tell you and none of the correct words to express any of it. If only you could read my mind, you might have understood how far from the truth you were. Both of us remained silent while I thought of a proper response. I knew you were probably stressing over every second it took for me to reply, so I kept it simple.

"Don't be so thick. It would take more than that to keep us apart," I said softly. I finished rinsing out my mouth and waited for you to say something. By the time I had popped into bed, you hadn't said a thing, I was afraid something happened to you. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah, I just—I'm still here."

"I want you to get one thing straight, Alfred. If I didn't want to be with you for any reason, I wouldn't be. Actually… I was rather afraid you might dump me for being so awful to you earlier."

"What? No way, dude! I totally deserved that. Even after I blew it, you gave me another chance. If that happened to me, I don't think I would've done that." You were so very wrong. You deserved so much better than this life gave you, not an angry Brit yelling at you. That is just how you were; selfless to a fault. "I don't want us to think of this as a temporary thing, even though it sorta is. I know that's a lot to ask."

"No, it's not a lot to ask for. We're in this together now, like it or not, and you are stuck with me for as long as you'll have me."

"I'm being really selfish," you tried.

Well, so was I. I wanted you for as long as the circumstance allowed. Terminal illness be damned, I was going to be with you. No, it was not the best situation in which to start a relationship. I was not going to let it prevent me from trying regardless. You weren't passing up the opportunity to find love because of it, neither was I.

I yawned away from the phone, but you heard and tried to convince me to go to bed. "Not yet," I replied sleepily.

The day had been incredibly long, longer than anticipated and I was exhausted. Tired or not, I had to make sure you made it home. You whined and pleaded, but I was resolute. A few minutes longer was definitely not going to kill me. I said so, you disagreed. I changed the subject.

"Would you like to go out next weekend?"

"Sure. I'd like that a lot. Now go to bed, dude. I'm home."

"I doubt that."

You chuckled. "I'm unlocking the door now." There was the sound of a key turning in a lock. "See?"

"Okay. Perhaps you are."

"I'll be sure to say 'hello' in the morning. Sweet dreams, Arthur."

"And you as well, Alfred." The words were soft, but I knew you heard me.

The call ended as was indicated by the beep in my ear. I was too exhausted to even move the mobile away from my face, so I left it there. There were a few seconds of uninterrupted city ambiance: tyres on wet asphalt; tenants on the floor above mine waking up, their footsteps heavy and slow; pipes creaking in the walls. It soothed me to sleep in less than a minute.

Good night, love.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Between school, work, and other obligations, it is difficult to find time to write. I had hoped to have the 4th chapter up over a month ago, but c'est la vie. I apologise for the infrequent updates and I hope you enjoy. Honestly, this will probably get edited and re-posted at a later date. Thank you to all of my readers for sticking with me, even though I've been a lousy author the past several months. I cherish every single follower and review I receive. Hopefully, the next update will follow soon.

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My entire world had changed in an instant, as quickly as a flash gone off, and I was blinded by your radiance. You entered my life so subtly at first that I had no impression you could or would alter it in any way. Then you came crashing in, quite literally, and everything went to hell. I was constantly miserable, always thinking about you and how you were feeling or if your day was faring well. Without having a way of knowing these things I worried constantly. As if you hadn't survived this long without me! I knew how ridiculous I was being. Oh god, I was so madly in love with you I would destroy the entire world and watch it burn. I'd been smitten like that once and only once–with you. Every other love was a candle in the wind, but ours was the sun; it would never fizzle out. And I knew that I had come far too close to emerge unscathed. The only option I had was to wait for you to turn me to ash.

How I could have become so overwhelmingly involved in something with a set expiration date, I'd never know. I couldn't think about it that way–I refused to and I think you did too. We were living at the end of one of those books where there are but a few pages left, and though you are fully aware that it is all over, that nothing particularly magical could occur to turn the story around, you still hope. And I did. For once I stopped being so bloody pessimistic and hoped that one day we would wake up and this would all just be another dream. Even if that meant I hadn't met you yet, I would at least know you're alive and had the potential to be for a long, long time. We could say our hellos another day. We'd have plenty of time.

Every week got better and worse all at once. It was already, and only, June, though it felt like December. There was an unspoken feeling of celebration but also an undercurrent of dread, knowing time was something we had little of. Neither of us addressed it–I figured it would pass. As the days flew by I realised it only intensified, becoming more evident as your mood dipped on certain afternoons and peaked on others. Simply being with you was an emotional rollercoaster. Far be it from me to tell you I didn't enjoy every second, including the parts that made me scream.

Thinking about you proved devastating to my work. I would get so caught up in missing you and hoping you were okay that I'd have to stay after hours to finish paperwork or return calls. Realising how this affected me, I made an attempt to let alone, but that was easier said than done. As soon as I finally left the office I would ring you with a bit of panic in the back of my mind. What if you didn't pick up? This was always a possibility and it worried me.

After the third tone, you answered.

"Hey! I didn't call in case you had to work late again."

I hadn't known you to be so considerate. "Hello, Alfred. Thank you. Work can get so busy I forget the time." I glanced at my wristwatch. "Is it really almost seven already?"

"Uh, yeah, I guess it is." There was a pause.

"You sound distracted," I stated.

"Me?" I didn't offer a response, figuring it was obvious. "Oh! Yeah, sorry, Arthur. I spent the whole day waiting to talk to you and now I don't even know what to say."

"It's quite alright. What is bothering you?"

"I have another appointment tomorrow."

"Oh…"

"And I wanted to ask you if you'd think about going with me."

I was past the point of asking if it was too soon in our relationship for me to accompany you to such a thing. If we only had so much time left, we were bound to advance faster than either of us was accustomed to. Apparently my silence made you nervous, as you began to say that it was a stupid question anyway, to just forget it.

"Don't be daft, Alfred. I'm going."

"Are you sure?"

I was not about to dignify that with a response. "Do we still have plans for tonight?"

The complete change in topic didn't faze you. It was if you did not even notice I'd ignored your question. "Of course, dude. I'll leave in five."

"Very well. See you soon."

Dinner conversation was fueled and hindered by that paradoxical feeling we both had. Neither of us wanted to bring up the appointment, which I later found out was for variably different reasons. I figured the c-word was off limits until further notice, I was okay with that. You came across as nervous for some reason, a little more jittery than usual, and I was exhausted, so we hardly spoke throughout the meal. Afterwards you told me you had a surprise but I had to wait just a bit longer. That naturally caught my attention. You threw your arm around my shoulder and kissed my temple.

"Let's just head home, okay? I know you're tired."

"My place or yours?" I sounded utterly too exhausted for that to come across as suggestive.

You smirked regardless. "Yours. I don't wanna make you walk home later."

I hardly had the energy to argue that I didn't want you to have to walk home either, so I let it go, just this once. We settled on a movie they were playing on the telly, I didn't care to see what it was, but it seemed to make you happy as you were engrossed with the story while I dozed off against your shoulder on the couch. After a few attempts to rouse me, you moved away only to lay me down so that my head was lying in your lap. I could not bear to protest. Your hands set to work weaving lightly through my hair and running along my back.

That is what it felt like to be in love. Feeling your body rise and fall when you took a breath was a simple pleasure, yet it gave me contentment and comfort, knowing you would continue to do so even if I fell asleep. You wouldn't dare leave me now, not like this. Your touch was an unspoken promise that would remain unbroken. It was the simple vow that lulled me to sleep without another thought, the thing that made my decision for me. I would marry you one day, if god would allow it.

It was silly, really. How long had we honestly known each other? Two short months, of which all but one of those days were the best of my life. Did normal people think of marriage so soon? I didn't want to rush, though that is exactly what I was doing, in a pathetic attempt to feel like I spent enough time with you. Of course I couldn't possibly ask you now. You would think I was doing it out of pity, trying to give you a "full" life, or something of the sort. I would have to wait.

What would you say when I asked, I wondered. Something along the lines of a morbid reminder that would serve to reiterate the reality of your fragile and waning life, I imagined. I so desperately wanted to ask you to spend the rest of your life with me, and I wanted to do it as soon as possible. "I'm already spending the rest of my life with you," I could already hear you groan, annoyed that our current relationship wasn't enough for me, though it absolutely was. And then you would add, "It isn't very long anyway, so what does it matter?" I was angered by the mere thought of what you could possibly say.

When would you leave me, then? My heart longed for the answer to be never. You had mentioned a year, maybe longer. Our year was almost a quarter over. By your birthday, it would be. The first birthday I spent with you, the first you would be able to legally drink, it would be the last. I was afraid that you wouldn't live to see your twenty-second year. I could only begin to imagine how Matthew felt.

You said something. My mind was thick with sleep and lost in thought. I could not tell what you said much less come up with a proper response.

"Mm... Me, too," I yawned. I was too tired to realise why this was not the answer I should have given. You chuckled and I slipped into a dreamless slumber, knowing I ought to think about marriage some other time.

I awoke a while later in the same position I had fallen asleep in except your head had fallen to one side, your mouth agape. The telly was playing an infomercial that only comes on in the early hours of the morning, the screen flickering bright colours that stung my eyes. You were snoring loudly as to rival the racket of the obnoxious salesman and I smiled to myself. Later I would realise that moments like these were precious, things to be remembered in vivid detail, though it doesn't make sense to cherish such mundane occurrences.

I sat up, shut off the telly, and woke you carefully, only enough to move you into the adjacent bedroom. Like a zombie, you stumbled around and toppled onto the bed. Perhaps you weren't aware that this was my flat and not yours, as you removed your glasses and reached out automatically as if to set them on a nightstand that was not there. They fell to the floor without you noticing. With a tired smile, I moved them to where no harm could come to them. The last thing I needed was for you to forget about your glasses and step on them.

After that I was finally able to lay down next to you. We settled in for the night and as I was nearly entirely asleep, you began thrashing about in a manner most annoying, squirming until you found a comfortable spot nestled against my side. But the wriggling continued. I wrapped my arms around you, hoping to stop your infernal restlessness. That seemed to be exactly what you wanted. You sighed in contentment and I found that I was happy with the arrangement as well.

"Goodnight, love." I kissed your forehead. You mumbled something in reply. I doubted that it made any sense.

**A A A**

The following morning was a complete disaster, as they usually are when I wake up with another man in my bed, or rather, _not_. You were gone, having left me alone and cold and wondering where you had gone. I naturally assumed you went home. That is how most one night stands ended after all. It figured I was completely wrong in assuming such a thing, especially when we did not have sex.

I heard you in the loo several moments later, vomiting violently, and I was beyond concern. When I came to offer my help, you kicked at the door weakly like a feverish toddler that refuses to take their medicine, hoping that it would deter me. Your head was buried in the bowl, an undeniably pathetic sight that made my heart ache, and you moaned for me to get out. You were sickly already. I couldn't lose you yet, and especially not to something unrelated to your condition that was cutting our time short enough.

"Let me help."

You coughed and winced at the sudden jerk, retreating from the toilet to lie on the floor, your hands clutching the sides of your head. "I'll be... okay. I told you headaches happen."

Unable to see your face, I assumed it wore an expression of agony. You were curled in a ball on the tile, muscles straining with the effort to hold you together, your skin turning bright red, yet looking incredibly pale at the same time. It was a surprise your body didn't snap, which is exactly what it looked like it would do. I had to fix it. If you were in pain, so was I.

Hoping that, at least, water could soothe your burning throat, I brought back a glass and some medication that I knew wouldn't aid you. I had to be careful about where I touched you, how suddenly or how hard, knowing that if you recoiled, you would not let me help. You were settled in my lap now so that you were more comfortable than on the floor. Even if I did nothing else, you were not in any more pain, and that made me feel better, though not by much.

You squeezed your eyes shut tightly, but I saw tears appear regardless. They rolled down your cheeks and I brushed them away softly.

"Drink this, love." I whispered this, hoping I wouldn't disturb your head, and I was relieved when you listened, though your trembling hands couldn't hold the glass, so I did it for you.

We ended up sitting there for longer than I would have imagined, over an hour, and my legs had gone numb shortly after I pulled you against me. I could not move–I didn't want to. Anything, the tiniest jolt, hurt you. I did not want to be the source of your pain, so I sat as still as possible, holding you and hoping it would go away. After the migraine had subsided a bit, you sat up on your own.

"Where did you learn to do that?"

"Where did I learn to do what?"

You were staring at the floor and massaging your temples. "That–being gentle and quiet and helpful. I didn't want you to touch me because it usually hurts when people do that. But you made it better. How?"

"I learned it taking care of my mum when she was ill. Before she passed, my father was no help, so I had to be."

"She must have been so proud of you."

"I don't know. She didn't talk much. That is what I missed the most, what I still miss. She talked all the time, loved to do it, and sing, too. It drove me mad that she couldn't say anything intelligible toward the end. All I wanted was to hear her sing one last time."

"Was she a good singer?"

"_God, no_," I chuckled, and you started to laugh too. "She couldn't cook either. I suppose that's where I get it from."

"Your mom sounds like fun. Do you think all moms are like that?" You were asking if your mother could have been like mine. I don't think anyone's mother could have been quite like mine.

"I don't think so. Some mothers are better than others, but I don't think there's truly a bad mother so long as she loves her children."

"That's the first nice thing I've ever heard you say about people."

I realised, a little dismayed, that you were right. "I guess you're rubbing off on me."

"Thanks, Arthur." You squinted your eyes in an attempt to see without your glasses. "I don't really remember how I got here. Where are we? And have you seen my glasses?"

"I'll explain while we get you ready for your appointment," I said, trying not to sound sad. I wondered how many things you tended to forget. You nodded, though you did not appear to know what I was talking about, and we conversed about pleasant things until you appeared to remember what had you so excited the night before. According to you, I still was not allowed to know what it was. I only hoped you didn't forget again.

**A A A**

I was more anxious than you, my nerves absolutely frayed by the time we arrived at the doctor's office, terrified that I was about to hear the bad news from a professional after you had already torn my heart out with it. You seemed to be in the same shape, though less melancholy and more… I couldn't place the feeling I was getting from you. It was nervous but in a way that varied from my own. Even though that was the least of my problems, it was frustrating not to know what you were thinking, how you were feeling about this visit.

"Hey, Arthur," you whispered, nudging me with your elbow. "Ten bucks says one of the nurses hits on you."

"What gives you that impression?"

"You're hot and classy. My friends like that sort of thing." I glared at you to hide that I was slightly flattered by the compliment. "Oh, come on, you're no fun. I _guarantee_ at least one does before we leave. Double or nothing, all three do."

"Fine. I don't understand what your obsession is with–"

An attractive young nurse strolled by us, heard my complaint, and stopped dead in her tracks. She turned toward you with a wide grin on her face and before I could complete the thought, she had launched herself into your arms. I crossed my arms over my chest, waiting for her to finish the contact that lasted longer than any friendly hug ought to. It bothered me that she was pretty–granted that there was no hint of femininity in her personality to match her curvy figure–though I wouldn't tell you so. You still showed interest in women, I realised this even after you assured me there was nothing to worry about, so there was always the possibility.

"You finally brought him!" your nurse friend squealed. "I knew you would find me a handsome man eventually!" She turned to me. "Hello, I'm Elizabeta. But you can call me whatever you like, _whenever_ you like." A suggestive wink was tacked on to the end of her sentence.

"No, Liz, he's mine." You yanked me toward you and wrapped me in an awkward embrace I tried to wiggle out of. "That's one," was added in my ear.

"But he's British! We agreed the European ones were mine."

"Not this one. This is Arthur."

Elizabeta's green eyes went wide in recognition of my name. "_This_ is Arthur?" I didn't fancy the way she said that, like I was a disappointment. She beamed suddenly and wrapped me in a tight hug, the action completely contradicting the impression I got from her tone previously. "You're wonderful," she said softly.

"Uh, yeah…" you said uneasily, gently, slowly pulling Liz off of me. "You guys can talk later; we gotta go."

Both Elizabeta and I knew that we were in no hurry. She groaned, but beamed regardless, seemingly happy no matter which direction this went. "You're no fun, Alfie! Don't you think for a second I'm done with you two."

Liz waved at us, turning on her heel to return to work. She was obviously aware of how this was going to turn out if she stayed. Apparently she knew something about you I had yet to discover. It was a bit exciting to watch you getting jealous and it only continued from there.

You twined your fingers with mine and glanced behind us, playfully scowling at Liz who was peering from behind a decorative tree in the lobby. She grinned and gave you a thumbs up. A defensive peck was planted on my temple and I smirked, thinking to myself how adorable it was that you were so quick to envy. I was about as interested in what she had under her clothes as if she were my own gran. The fact that you saw her as a threat, just as I had been concerned about for you, made me laugh at how silly we were being.

"What was that about?" As if I didn't know. Perhaps I wanted a confession, to find some solid evidence that you cared nearly as much about me as I did you.

"What was what?"

"You know exactly what. Tell me."

Instead of a proper response, you squeezed my hand gently and let the corner of your lips turn up ever so slightly. When another woman, a dark-skinned beauty of less than twenty that had her hair in pigtails on either side of her head, dared to so much as look our way, you passed her by quickly with a stern "no". She left her jaw agape for a second while we sped past. I chuckled quietly.

"My name is Michelle!" the younger girl announced, but did not follow us.

"Alfred," I began, "this is hardly the time."

"Michelle is a nice _girl_." You emphasized that she was most likely underage, thinking that would deter me more than the fact that she was a woman. "She volunteers here for school–wants to work full time once she's graduated high school."

We were approaching a desk at which a man was speaking to the receptionist, equally attractive as either of the women we encountered. He was someone I could see myself potentially returning flirtations, were I not dating you, of course. You must have read my mind as you steered me away, toward a seat behind a wall far away from him. I crossed my arms over my chest with an undignified huff and let you laugh. Were I to tilt to the side, I could catch a glimpse of the final nurse you wanted me to have nothing to do with, but I was a gentleman and would not be caught doing something so undignified. That is what I told myself to think, instead of the obvious: I was in love with you.

I waited for several minutes as you did what you had to, running my hand through my hair in unease more times than I could keep track of. It was too much for me to handle. You were dying–_dying, _love. I was unprepared to accept your fate, still praying that denial could make it all go away. The pain of parting was too great to imagine, so I knew actually losing you would be far worse. Having a professional tell me, point blank, that the love of my life would disappear forever was going to hurt me dearly. I had thought it was your intention to rip the bandage off, so to speak, to end my suffering so that one of a new kind could begin. You always knew just how to surprise me.

"Don't be mad," you began upon return.

"What could you have possibly done in five minutes to upset me?"

You looked over your shoulder at the attractive male nurse. He was walking down the corridor away from us now. "I didn't want you to meet him. It's stupid, really."

"Yes, it is. I have no interest in–"

"That's not it." You sat next to me with a strained inflection in your voice. "He's my ex, sort of. I mean, he is, but not boyfriend. Like, I dunno, we used to hook up or something."

"Or something," I repeated lamely.

"It's been over for a while. I just didn't want to put you guys in a totally awkward situation."

"Should I be concerned that there's another man?" It was a poor attempt at a joke that came across bitter and biting, exactly as I had said it in my head. You frowned.

"Let's go meet him," you suggested, to which I responded with zero enthusiasm. "C'mon, I think you'd like him."

The receptionist called out your name and I responded accordingly, standing up and turning away, ignoring your attempt to sooth my irrational fears by introducing me to a man you slept with. I was angry, but more at myself for not expecting it. Of course you had a life before me. That was a given. I suppose I didn't want to face the reality that someone else had loved you, or at least, shared intimate moments with you that I had yet to. Perhaps that is how you felt about Francis dating your brother. You knew I was in love with him a time ago, he loved me too, and now he and Matthew developed the same relationship we had had.

"Aren't you coming? I haven't a clue where we're going."

You winced at the tone in my voice. I hadn't meant it to sound so worn down and fed up. It was always a combination of things when I was in a foul mood. Today, it was the male nurse, but also the situation we were in, waiting for the sentence to be passed on your life. He had spent more time with you than I had, and maybe ever would. I was angry, and yes, I was sad.

"Hey." You hopped up and tenderly touched my shoulder. "Forget about him–I have."

"I know." I am not sure if that was the truth I felt.

You took me down another hallway to an office you had undoubtedly been in many times as you knocked on the door once before entering without approval. An older Asian man sat at the desk inside, he looked up from the papers stacked neatly on his desk. He smiled at you with sadness in his eyes and I knew instantly that was was the look I always gave you. It was not pity, as I knew upset you, but the lack of understanding we shared concerning your decision. I felt connected to the doctor in this way.

We sat on the seats provided in front of the desk and I felt ill at ease, thinking to myself that it was similar to a principal's office, where you get scolded for minor transgressions, in my case. The doctor greeted us with with a nod, his hands folded in his lap, not bothering to dissipate the idea that we were here because we had gotten in to trouble. You introduced me, we said our hellos, and the doctor, Doctor Yao, still seemed hesitant to begin. He opened with something easy.

"How are you feeling?"

You shrugged noncommittally. "Some days are better than others. I'm pretty great, though."

I gave you an incredulous look, knowing fully well that you were a liar. "Tell him the truth, Alfred."

"What?" you asked as though what you had said wasn't false. "Are you talking about this morning? I told you that happens sometimes. That wasn't nearly as bad as it looked."

Doctor Yao's lips turned up a bit at the corner. "I will assume Arthur is talking about the headaches. Are they getting worse?"

"No, this one wasn't that bad, trust me. Arthur just hasn't seen it before. Really, we can stop about the headaches." You were waiting for something to happen, your foot tapping rapidly and hand gripping mine too tightly. I had no idea what it was that had you set so on edge.

"Alfred," Doctor Yao started, then paused. You were smiling and I had no idea why, neither did he. "I don't know what there is left to talk about. You have already refused treatment several times. We're monitoring your condition. I've answered every question you had and you could have called with any new ones. Why did you schedule this appointment?"

Taking my hand now in both of yours, you were trying to contain the excitement in your voice. You were desperately attempting to be serious but something had you incredibly wound. We waited for your response and I never would have expected the next words that left your mouth.

"That's the thing, Doc, I'd like to start treatment."


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: I'm trying to adapt to an even busier schedule than I was accustomed to, so writing has somewhat been put on the back burner. I spend whatever free time I have writing the new chapters on my phone, and apologize for any errors. Autocorrect will be the death of me.

If you need a break from the angst, please check out my new 1950s AU Finding Nowhere! It's going to consist of mainly fluff and smut, though I cannot promise I won't find some way to make it break your heart along the way. :)

* * *

My heart beat so quickly it felt like it had gone still. You were going to live, I instantly thought. It did not depend on circumstance or statistics; I felt, deep down, that you were going to survive this. Did it matter that this was highly improbable? God, no. The words you spoke were the ones I had been dying to hear since I first learnt of your condition. I thought they were magical and could cure you just like that.

Of course I was wrong. I knew that. No words would heal you anymore than I alone could. But I was filled with delighted optimism–something I had been lacking in my life–all because you might just live. The feeling was alien to me and beautifully so.

Doctor Yao appeared surprised, though not nearly as much as I was, and as he was rendered speechless, waiting for a response to come to mind, so was I. You looked at me expectantly with a wide smile in place. There were no words to describe the insurmountable amount of relief and joy I felt. Both of you were staring at me as I struggled to put the pieces together and find the proper sentiment. I only wished you could read my mind, so that there was no doubt that I loved you and appreciated your effort to make me happy.

"I–um, well…" There were tears in my eyes, burning and threatening to fall. You squeezed my hand, looked at me with an emotion that needn't be said. How had I not noticed you loved me before?

"Surprise," you whispered sweetly.

I wiped my eyes. "I swear to god, this had better not be just for me."

You shrugged innocently. "You're important to me, Arthur, and I know this is important to you–to us. I made this decision on my own a while ago, so don't worry about it, okay? I'm way too into myself to die now."

Doctor Yao's eyes were widened slightly as he shuffled the papers around. He discreetly cleared his throat. "We can discuss treatment options, then."

He went on to explain your diagnosis, throwing around words like oligodendroglioma and medulloblastoma, how they differed from each other, and what forms of treatment would be used. Certainly I tried my best to keep up with what he was saying. It was odd that you understood everything Doctor Yao said when I was under the impression that half of it was in Chinese. You mentioned several times that you would explain it all in more detail later. I hadn't planned on having a lesson in cancer today, but was suddenly interested in what you both had to tell me.

"Temozolomide is a chemotherapy drug used in the treatment of such cancers because, unlike the others, it is able to reach the brain tissue via the brain stem. My hope is that it will at least halt the tumors' growth. If your body reacts well with it, however, perhaps we can start discussing surgery options in the coming months. Surgery cannot cure this particular type of cancer, but the removal of large portions of these tumors can reduce migraines and the risk for seizures."

Doctor Yao paused and pinched the bridge of his nose, apparently preparing to say something he would rather not. It couldn't be pleasant. He took a deep breath. My stomach was in knots as I waited. I think I had forgotten how to breathe, but I could not be sure.

"There are no guarantees you will go into remission, Alfred. The median life expectancy of someone your age with the same type of cancer is less than five years, starting treatment at the time of diagnosis. It has been nearly a year without having done anything to fight the cancer. You do realise this?"

"Yeah, I do."

"We will begin your treatment with…" He looked for a piece of information on one of the pages, flipping through them until he found what was needed. "A schedule of five consecutive days of drug administration, followed by a rest period of four weeks. You can begin as early as Monday, if you would like."

You replied, "Sure thing, Doc. As soon as possible."

Doctor Yao turned to me. "And what do you think about this, Arthur?"

"What? Me?" My voice cracked and was soft. I didn't think either of then heard me. I was still in shock, too overwhelmed to have any thoughts other than those pertaining to your possible survival.

"As Alfred's partner, it is important that he knows your feelings about this."

The pressure was situated so that it rested on my shoulders again. My ears flushed red, the back of my neck prickling with some unexplainable sense of fear. It felt as though my mouth was lined with sandpaper. Of course I had feelings about this; mostly ones that manifested into gross sobbing.

"I don't want him to make any rash decisions on my behalf. If this is what he wants, then I will support it, just as I did when he refused treatment. I should not have a say in what he does with his life."

"Yes, you should," you debated, a hint of anger–not aimed at me, of course–in your voice. "I want to know what you think, too. Your opinion matters to me."

I would be lying if I said that the thought of chemotherapy did not frighten me. Everyone knows what it does to your body; shutting down the parts that function well in hopes that it makes the ill ones better, making you far more sickly than you were before starting treatment. I understood why you wouldn't want to undergo such an awful thing for a result you might not ever see. You knew it was not worth the risk at this point in your life. As you said, you would rather enjoy the time you had left than be miserable. From what I saw earlier that morning, however, you were already suffering.

Out of fear of death–not necessarily in of itself, but of what follows–I would go through with the necessary treatments. I was terrified of not knowing whether I would disappear off the face of the earth, living on only in old photographs and the memories of those I left behind, or if there was something else to look forward to. An afterlife promised in an old book had been enough for me as a child. Now I was grown and petrified that it might have been a story after all. That was something we, you and I, would go on to contemplate a lot.

"I appreciate that you're taking my feelings into account, but I only want you to be happy."

You did not appear to like that answer. I know that you were looking for a bullheaded Brit to argue with you in case you made the wrong choice. That isn't what I wanted to be. You needed to do what was best for you, regardless of how I desired this to turn out. Sometimes you were so selfless it hurt.

"I am aware your twenty-first birthday is approaching, Alfred," Doctor Yao interrupted in a stern tone, like one a father would use. "Avoiding alcohol is a recommendation I urge you to adhere to. Alcohol can interfere with some chemotherapy drugs and cause unwanted side effects. If you are going to drink, regardless of my warning, please, do it in moderation."

"Okay, Doc. I think I can do that."

"Promise me you will really try."

You grinned at the doctor, marking an X over the left side of your chest. "Cross my heart."

The rest of the appointment was a clarification of all that had been said accompanied by a laundry list of side effects that made me physically ill. Luckily, I did not have to share any more of my feelings. I never was very good at that.

**A A A**

I was caught in a state of overwhelming numbness that built up mostly in my chest, making it difficult to breathe as we exited the office. You were looking at me in a way that expressed something about my behavior worried you. When I tried to speak, the words would not come out, and I made an attempt not to be reduced to tears in the hallway. Then your arms were around me and everything was okay, yet it had all gone to hell. We lived in this wonderful, terrible paradox of a world.

"Please say something."

You were smiling in a manner that was defensive, as though waiting to be scolded for naughty behavior. Desperation seeped into your words, however hard you tried not to let it, and I was angry with myself for causing your distress. If I could have eased your worry in a way that didn't literally cause me physical pain, such as suppressing the inevitable fit I was bound to have, I would have done it in a heartbeat. With mine pumping as quickly as it was, you would be soothed in no time at all.

I was so overcome with emotion that I couldn't bear to say anything. Instead I grasped on to the sides of your face and kissed you more fervently than I had ever kissed anyone before. You chuckled at my enthusiasm, the best you could with my lips frantically searching for something that could only be found against yours, and responded appropriately. A normally private person, the bout of snogging in the hallway, surprisingly, hardly bothered me. I needed you more than sunlight or rain or any natural thing that sustains life–I needed you. I hoped you received that feeling since I couldn't explain it.

Something inside of me was broken, ruined furthermore by your inescapable fate, but you were beginning to mend it, whatever it was. I felt more like a person instead of that grumpy git I became so long ago. This wasn't to say I was completely whole again; I didn't believe a relationship could heal anyone with a history like mine. Maybe if I had a few bad boyfriends in the past, and only that, then you would have been able to save me like the hero you wanted to be. I never thought I would be able to care about another person as much as I did you. You were making me better.

Only did I stop the frantic lip lock when the first sob ripped from my throat, the only sound I was apparently capable of making. I clutched on to the front of your shirt, buried my face in your neck, and wept, and so did you. At first I think I caught you off guard. The mood swing was confusing, but it made sense. I was only glad that you understood me enough to know what I meant, and kind enough to share in my moment of weakness.

What was it that made me so mad for you? Every shudder of your body, every tearful breath you took, every hoarse sound that broke in your throat, resonated with my soul. We just stood there crying for a while, fully aware that there were others in the building who had their heads turned away in discretion, wondering what news we had received to warrant such a powerful reaction. That did not matter. Your hands held me against you, one wound in my hair and the other pressed into the small of my back. You were holding me together in a time I would have fallen apart.

After an eternity of this, we began to calm down, but I still could not speak. I was grinning as the tears streamed down my face and I trembled from the shaky breaths I drew. This cannot be real, I repeated to myself. It had to be a dream. If any part of our relationship was a figment of my imagination, it had to be this moment when I thought you would live.

"S-say s-something," you plead again, in my ear this time.

"Hel-lo."

You laughed loudly, squeezing me tighter. "Hello, Arthur." Then you pulled away for a moment to kiss me and I knew, somehow, we were going to be alright.

"If you two are quite done," Elizabeta interrupted, "I'd like to get to know the man that is dating my best friend."

We separated from each other enough to see Liz standing beside us with her arms crossed over her chest. Her foot was tapping impatiently. I dried my eyes with the back of my wrists, sniffling in a manner that betrayed that I was going to break down once more. You pulled me close, knowing I was not yet through with crying over you, and let me sober up.

"We're kinda having a moment here, Liz."

She rolled her eyes, obviously not caring. "I was a part of the surprise! I wanted to see what he'd do."

"So, you t-tell her, but wait to say anything to me so I cry in front of all of these p-people?"

"What if I forgot again?"

"I have a thing or t-two to say to you, Alfred Jones," I threatened.

You kissed me again. "You can tell me later, when no one else is around."

Liz was practically drooling over our exchange, feeding off our emotions like some twisted vampyre. Her eyes were squinted a bit as though she was scrutinizing us. I hadn't the foggiest idea why. She was an enigma I could never hope to fully understand.

You and I both settled enough so that our ragged breaths were replaced by smooth, effortless ones. There was still so much to be said, so many things I wanted to know. It would have to wait. The thought of it killed me, as patience was not a virtue I came by naturally.

Elizabeta linked her arm with mine and began asking me questions, serious about "getting to know" me. What is your favourite colour? Movie? Do you prefer cats or dogs? Top or bottom? You shot her a glare, but her questions continued to become more and more of a sexual nature, which made you blush, especially when I actually gave her an answer. I had nothing to hide and was in no way ashamed of sex, nor the things I enjoyed about it, so there was no reason not to. Honestly, I was glad to get a break from the emotional assault I would no doubt revisit later tonight.

Though you were unhappy about it, you let us talk about the things that embarrassed you. At times you would intervene, cutting Elizabeta off mid-sentence and changing the subject–or at least trying to. She was persistent when it came to the things she was really curious about. Even after you made several attempts to curb the conversation to your liking, Liz stole it away again. The more personal the question, the more earnestly she wanted to know the answer.

"I would never have figured you for a top," she said excitedly. "I mean, it makes sense since Alfie is–"

"Stop it," you interrupted. "You're not dragging my boyfriend into your marriage problems."

"What do my sexual preferences have anything to do with her marriage?" I pressured your hand, pleased that I found something that embarrassed you, though I was surprised that you, of all people, were a prude.

"When she gets in a fight with her husband they bring a third into the bedroom."

Liz whined angrily. "Alfie! You make it sound so awful! We just like to experiment, that's all."

"Well, you're not experimenting with my boyfriend."

I leaned in to whisper, "He just doesn't know what he's missing out on."

Liz squealed, such an odd thing to hear come out of her mouth, laughing like I had said the funniest thing she has ever heard. Your eyebrows drew together in confusion as though she'd never made that sound before. Apparently, she hadn't.

"What?"

"What?" I repeated innocently.

"We'll get him one day," Liz promised. "Alfie is in to a lot of–"

You reached around and punched her on the shoulder. "Another word, and I'll totally kill you, dude."

"Ya? I'll take you on!"

You gave her a look, which seemed ordinary to me, but Elizabeta knew you much better than I did. Something about your expression communicated to her how uncomfortable she made you. She mimicked zipping her lips shut, giggling with the subtlety of a tornado.

After that, we went home, leaving Elizabeta to her work and agreeing to have a discussion about the appointment later. I think we were both too emotionally drained to talk about it anymore, kissing each other goodbye and promising that there would be another new hello in the morning. Prying myself off of you was the most difficult thing I'd done all day. The urge to say the three words that had been on my mind for weeks now was nearly unbearable. I let you go without letting them slip, however.

"I won't forget to call tonight," you swore, kissing my forehead. "I miss you already."

"Sod off…" This came across as half-hearted at best.

You grinned and started to walk away, some reluctance in your step. I turned around to begin the journey home.

There was a deep-rooted anxiety to our parting as there always was–this time concerning your treatment. The question had now become: will this change anything? Your chances were slim, and only declining, but there was hope to be found. I could accept that you passed knowing that you tried to get better. Even if I still had to let you go... well, that was something I could begin to deal with. I think it is safe to say you agreed to start treatment so it would put me at ease, for I knew you had little faith in the odds. Perhaps they would be in your favor, and perhaps not. It was too early to pray for a miracle.

I had to ring Francis. He was the only one who would understand my thoughts and why I was reacting the way I was. Even if it felt odd, speaking with my ex-boyfriend about my current, Francis was still my mate. Once I talked it out with someone, then, I hoped, I would be prepared to tell you how I felt.

Explaining the situation from the beginning, parts of which he already knew from Matthew, Francis quickly moved past the fact that we were dating each other's boyfriends' brothers. He made jokes only when appropriate, thankfully. I made him swear that he wouldn't speak a word of it to Matthew, wanting him to hear the good news from you, and retold the events of the appointment. Francis remained patient with me at the times when I teared up and my voice began to crack.

"Iz Alfred going to live?"

I asked myself that same question too many times to count. "Haven't a clue, honestly. It's too early to tell. I think he's only doing this because... he loves me."

"My Matthew's obnoxious brother iz in love with _you_?"

I scoffed in annoyance. Francis was completely missing the point. That wasn't the problem at all! The matter we needed to attend to was me being in love with you, not you with me.

"I don't know. That doesn't matter right at this moment."

Francis sighed, agitation creeping into his voice. "Well, of course it matters!"

"Bloody hell, Francis! I love him."

"And 'ave you told 'im zat?"

"Of course not!" I snapped. "He'd think I'm mad. There hasn't been nearly enough time for that to happen."

"I don't know, mon ami. Some of us believe in love at first sight. Obviously zat did not happen with us. What iz zere to fall in love with? Not zose terrible eyebrows, or zat temper."

Francis had a way of turning everything into a pissing match. I knew he was only joking, but this was serious. If I was actually considering marrying you, I had to know I was doing it for the right reasons, and not out of pity as you would suspect. While he irked me unlike any other, Francis was my best mate. He knew me better than anyone else and would know what to do.

"If you would 'ave been 'alf as loving toward me as you are 'im, we would be married."

"Thank God I dodged that bullet, then."

"I agree. Now, 'ow does 'e feel about zis?"

I transferred the phone from one ear to the other. "What ever do you mean?"

"You 'ave not even mentioned it to 'im? Mon dieu! 'Ow do you expect to be in a relationship with a man you don't tell your feelings to?"

"I haven't gotten quite that far yet. It's been a difficult week."

Francis gasped. "There iz always time for amore! What iz it zat you're doing with your life?"

I had no clue. If I had any idea what I wanted to do with myself, I would not have gone to Francis. He knew that there was never any time for silly things like love and marriage and family in my life. You only served to prove that I couldn't have all of that and be successful in my career, though that was undoubtedly my fault for being easily distracted.

What concerned me the most is that I didn't care so much about that anymore. I wanted to have a large wedding with all of our friends and anyone we had ever met present, making vows to love and cherish you forever in front of as many people as I could find. When I woke in the morning, I hoped to find you lying in my arms, and fall asleep the same way every night. That is the criteria for being in love, isn't it? Yet I felt like all of that was fabricated from the dreams of other people; it wasn't what I wanted.

What I really, truly wanted was a wedding that consisted of only us and whoever we needed to make it official. I wanted to whisper the promise of everlasting love that only you could hear so our love would be sacred, something we cherished in private. The desire for our love to be so true that I needed no one to validate it burned fiercely in my heart. Perhaps we did not even need to be married, then. I was sure that once I made my decision, I would never go back. If I pledged my forever to you, no matter what could happen later, I would be obligated to follow through.

I wanted to apologise after an argument, begging for your forgiveness until I was blue in the face, making sure you still loved me. Or for you to fall to your knees, weeping at my feet for the same reason, and see the desperation in your eyes that would tell me how awfully sorry you were for whatever you did. I wanted one of us to have to sleep on the couch for a few nights, though I knew you would always let me have the bed, even if I was the one in the wrong. Maybe I wished we would fight frequently over the smallest of things so we would know that the other still cared enough to get upset. I looked forward to the nights when I wouldn't want you curled up against my side because we were together so long that I needed some goddamn space.

That is when I knew I was in love with you in the truest sense. Everyone made promises to love when it was easy, but I did not want this to be easy. I wanted to throw a fit and fight for this mad thing we had. We needed to take each other in imperfection, hoping we would see the divine, not assume that it was granted. I loved you for all of your flaws. I loved you because you were mostly flaws.

My decision was made.

"I'm going to ask Alfred to marry me."

Francis was quiet for a moment–too quiet. He cleared his throat, trying to find something to say. "Congratulations, Arthur," he answered in a strained voice.

I had not realised that marriage remained a sore subject for him even after all this time. Francis had proposed to me–I responded by announcing I was moving to America. How could I marry someone that swore they loved me when I didn't even love myself? I was too damaged to be anyone's husband and Francis deserved better. You did, too, of course. The difference was that I was getting better. I was slowly becoming someone more worthy of your love, though you have tried to convince me that I was always good enough.

From all of this talk about the loves of our lives, I assumed Francis had been over it for some time. He was in love with Matthew now, not me. I suppose some wounds heal faster than others and some never do.

"Francis, I didn't mean to–"

"It's fine. We 'ave moved on, non? Both of us 'ave new lives, new people we love."

"I'm terribly sorry."

"I will always love you, Arthur, more zan you ever loved me. Do you remember what it iz you said the day you left me? 'If you love me, let me go'. And I did because I do."

The saddest part about that was it was all true. I never wanted to hurt him. Selfishly, I moved to America with no regard of his feelings, claiming it was for his good, not my own. Leaving was probably for the best, though. Francis needed someone who would love him as passionately as he loved them. I simply could not be that kind of person for him.

"You know I still love you, Francis."

He laughed in a lighthearted manner. "What's not to love?"

I realised that I could not help falling for men I did not deserve. Asking you to marry me was going to be the most selfish thing I'd ever done. It would allow me to take your forever away to waste on someone who would only bring you more anguish. I was still too broken to care. Just because I needed something does not mean that I deserved it, but I still wanted you.

"What are you waiting for, mon ami? If you 'ave so little time, why not ask 'im now?"

Beside the fact that you would assume it was a shotgun wedding, I needed more time to think. "It isn't right yet."

I could see the expression on Francis' face in my mind. He was probably rolling his eyes. "You 'ave never been good at timing. Why is zis any different? If you love 'im, marry 'im. I will never understand your ridiculous zoughts."

"If you met him, you would understand. Alfred is different. He deserves better than what I am now."

Francis made a long sigh into the phone. He knew I was too stubborn to budge on this subject and that he would never be able to persuade me to see his side of the argument. It was something he admired about me when we were young and in love. Even now, it did not truly bother him. I still thought that he must have been glad he found someone more agreeable than I was.

"I will be seeing you soon, Arthur," Francis said after some thought. "Matthew and I will be joining you for Alfred's birzday."

"He hasn't mentioned his birthday to me."

"Per'aps 'e forgot?"

"I think you're right. When do you plan on arriving?"

Matthew apparently came home then, as Francis called out to someone in French, his voice filled with love. His next words to me were short. "The night before. We will discuss zis proposal later, oui? I must go. Adieu, Arthur."

My heart twinged with something unfamiliar to me. What was that damned sensation? No, it couldn't be love, though it tightened my chest and upset my stomach as much as if it were. I loved you. It seemed impossible that I could also feel that way about him. We had our chance and I let him go, and that was a long, long time ago. I could not have feelings for someone I abandoned for a broken little dream that did not turn out exactly as I wanted.

I hadn't known I still loved Francis, but I did. The thought of him treating another with the tenderness he allotted me during our time together settled in my stomach, making me feel ill. I missed him, but not in the same way I did you. It was difficult to explain how it was possible to love more than one person at the same time, be it in varying degrees. Some people just stick with you your entire life, I suppose. I still refused to accept it.

I only hoped that you did not love another despite how selfish a desire that was. Were I to discover you held a place for someone else in your heart, I felt I would die. I was young and foolish to believe the was not room enough for many in a heart as large as yours. You would help me learn to accept people as they truly are, for I couldn't possibly know why one acted a certain way or why they did things the way they did. Stubborn as an ass, I refused to think I could ever love someone as much as I did you.

Silly, wasn't I, love?


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: My laptop is currently broken and will remain so until further notice. Updates will continue to be posted slowly.

OutToGarden - here's your update, as promised (finally, I've paid off the bet you won).

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I never believed in soul mates until I met you. Nothing about it made any sense to me; falling in love out of nowhere without cause; not even knowing the person's name before you let them own your heart. A soul was a desperate man's need for higher purpose manifesting into a concept far beyond comprehension, so the idea that two people could love each other in more than a physical and emotional sense was inconceivable. This sort of thing transversed to the spiritual, and that was something I couldn't say I wholly believed in. Yet I knew that we were connected in a way that no one could ever explain, not even me. You were a part of me I never knew I needed, the part I would not give up for anything the world could ever offer.

There was so much to know about you. Even when I thought I had learnt everything there was to know, though that was impossible, I continued to be surprised by the things I had yet to come across. Who would have known that those seemingly insignificant anecdotes about early childhood could make someone fall even more madly in love with you? I had to know everything about you and your nearly twenty-one years. Yes, even about that one time you were convinced Matthew was your reflection that came to life.

In case I haven't told you: I love you more than I can ever tell.

Being in love was such an odd thing. It wasn't as though I normally felt insufficient on my own. I completed my own life, and that was something I doubted many people could say. When you came around, it wasn't like any of the other times I felt butterflies in my stomach and my heart race faster than I thought possible, though. You were something I never saw coming; a love that I would die for. Try to stop me at dying _for_ you—I would do it for far less. I would leap in the path of a speeding train if it would make you smile. Who but I would be the first to step in front of the firing line to hear my name in your voice. Your embrace would be the noose that hanged me, and gladly so. You were going to be the death of me in the sweetest of ways because I loved you more than life.

"_Artie!_" I winced at the sound.

Yes, even when I hated you.

"We have to talk about it eventually!"

"And yet here we are, not discussing it. Why, isn't that peculiar?"

"Ar-_thur_! You promised!"

There was this walk you adopted when agitated—a little spring in your step that I believed was all that negative energy trying to escape—

that made me laugh to myself. You caught the smirk I had let slip and the intensity of your bouncing increased a bit, which only wrecked my composure even further. You were getting as angry with me as you could manage, and that was laughable in itself, for you were too cheerful and forgiving to actually be cross with me. I knew you all too well already.

"Do you think it's going to rain today? It appears a bit cloudy. I left my umbrella in my flat, silly me. Perhaps I should have brought it after all." I held out my hand, palm facing upward, testing for a drizzle. "Do you feel that?"

You shook your head, though not in answer to my question. I purposefully took it as such, however.

"Blimey, must be going mad, then."

"Seriously," you said, planting your feet firmly on the ground. I stopped several paces ahead of you. "Let's just get it over with."

"Very well, though I do not understand what has you in such a rush."

You were pestering me about your birthday party. We had a handful of days yet until you turned twenty-one and this fact had been predominant in all of our conversations. I wanted to know nothing about it. Your friends had it planned for months before you had even met me. Nothing was going to change now because of a man you had been dating for little more than a few weeks. I refused to be _that_ boyfriend.

"Mattie is coming," you mentioned in a tone that suggested that was only half a statement. I had to pretend I knew nothing about this plan.

"Is he, now? That is delightful. You can tell him the good news in person since you have neglected to mention it to him."

You groaned in anguish. "Why do you always do that thing where you turn it around on me? It isn't fair!"

I resumed walking forward, seeing no point in standing around on the pavement. We were going to be late for your appointment if we stopped to discuss everything you wanted to mildly complain about. There was nothing that could make me miss this.

"I do it because you make it so easy."

"Why are you so mean to me?" You paused and threw your arms out in a dramatic gesture that was a little too much for what you were trying to express. "Ugh! And now you've totally got me off track. _Anyway_, I wanted to talk to you because Francis is coming too."

"Do you think they've gotten engaged and are waiting to tell us? That would be awfully rude of them to announce it at your party. It is your day."

I knew very well that that was not the point you were trying to make. There was a moment when you hesitated, teetering on the edge of forgetting this nonsense and changing the subject or continuing with what you knew had to be said. You decided that it was a topic that needed to be discussed. I already knew where this was heading, but gave you the benefit of the doubt.

"I don't like the idea of him being there."

"Oh, come now. He is an insufferable prat, but also a fine man. I know he treats Matthew like a king. Meeting him should be easy enough."

You sighed. "That's not what I'm talking about. Even if he did treat Mattie bad, my bro's no pushover." It took you a second to recall where exactly you were going with that. "It's just that he's your ex and..."

"And?" I questioned, hoping you understood that the mere insinuation irked me.

"I don't want it to be awkward—that's all. If it makes you uncomfortable, I don't want to do that to you. Mattie was okay with it, so am I, but I wanted to know if you were alright."

I was surprised by the turn this took. How strange it was to have someone think of what made me comfortable and happy. Francis was attentive, of course, but he had a habit of assuming anything he approved of was also okay with me. This was bot always the case, and most likely helped lead us down the path toward separation. You were different. It seemed you always were.

"Yes, I'm alright. So long as you are, that is."

"I sort of invited him, but I forgot to ask you about it when I did. Sorry, Arthur."

There was nothing for you to apologise for and I told you so. It was your party, after all, and I would never expect Matthew to leave his longterm partner at home whilst he visited. It would also be nice to see Francis again, since we hadn't followed through with any of the promises we made to meet up sometime over the years. I was happy that you cared, though. Sometimes it was nice to know how much you loved me in your own way. Even if you weren't quite _in love_ with me yet, we were surely getting there. I was holding out a few more months before I confessed my undying love for you. Each day was more difficult than the last.

"I think you will like him," I said instead. "Francis loves Matthew very much. He'll make a good first impression, I'm sure."

"Do first impressions really matter, though?"

"I think so. I think they're rather important, actually."

You laughed loudly. "Then you have really bad taste in men since I totally ran you over the first time we met."

I suppose you had a point, though I didn't think now was the time to tell you about how I came to fall in love with you from afar. We'd save that for another time, when you'd find it endearing instead of borderline creepy. Even I still found it odd. Maybe I wouldn't tell you, then. You needn't know about something so silly. All you had to be aware of is how our relationship made me fall (even more) completely and hopelessly in love with you.

We arrived at the clinic before you could say sorry again. I was even less excited to go inside this time, knowing exactly what was in store, but I told myself I had to be strong, if not for myself, for you. Elizabeta had plenty of practise pretending to be cheerful when surrounded by death, so she was grinning as though nothing was out of sorts. I wished I could have had her strength. It would have helped at least a tad. We were left terrified like children at the dentist. How could we not be with an uncertain future ahead of us?

She walked us past where we had been mere days before, through doors I had never seen, corridors never traveled. I can't remember what it was you two were talking about so idly, but I do recall how it made the sick feeling in my abdomen worse as the conversation went on. You acted like we were somewhere completely different, on holiday perhaps. Definitely not heading in the direction of your first chemotherapy treatment. Maybe if none of us mentioned it, it would go away, you thought.

She stopped at a small waiting room, instructed you on what to do, and disappeared behind a door, promising to see us soon. You filled out a fair amount of paperwork after checking in with a receptionist, and we indeed waited. For a long time it seemed we sat in silence. The sound of the cheap pen scraping against the paper when it temporarily ran out of ink made my skin crawl. I wanted to throw the damned thing across the room. If even the writing utensil couldn't perform its job correctly, why should I trust these people with your life? It was irrational and I knew that, but I was scared out of my wits. I didn't know how many times we would be returning to this accursed room to wait or how long we'd sit here hoping the treatment that lie beyond worked.

An unfamiliar woman called out your name, announcing your turn to go back. Your blood had to be drawn before you started the chemo and we arrived several hours early to go through this process the proper way. You complained about that too, and told me not to bother coming with you, but I assured you that it was in your best interest to follow procedure and to stop being such an idiot, of course I was coming. I think the time we had before receiving the blood test results allowed you to calm down. Our fingers were intertwined and you laid your head against my shoulder.

"This is stupid," you said quietly a while after I thought you had dozed off.

"What is?"

You sat up straight, stretched and yawned, pulling my arm up with yours. I patiently awaited your answer.

"It takes forever!" It was the most obnoxious whine I had ever heard you speak in. "I still have to wait for the results, and have my vitals taken, and my medicines ordered before it even starts. At this rate, I'm going to die before I get to treatment."

"Don't be ridiculous."

"But I'm _so _bored!"

I rolled my eyes at you and you just laughed. "You're acting like a child. This is serious, Alfred. It isn't meant to be fun."

"Forget it."

"Alfred—"

"Seriously, just forget it."

Getting you all worked up wouldn't do either of us a bit of good, so I let it be. You were deflecting, and it helped you cope, so I had no right to take that away from you. It surprised me when you continued to hold my hand, though it ought not to at this period in our relationship. You craved physical reassurance more than I did. Maybe all I could do for you was be there for moral support. Honestly, even if I actually managed to anger you, I don't think you would have had it any other way.

After the blood test results were delivered and your vitals taken, we were guided to yet another new room. I briefly wondered how far this building went on for. This room wasn't very large, though it was long, the walls lined with compact stations used to deliver the chemotherapy. Several chairs were already occupied. Elizabeta was fiddling with a clear bag of fluid some ways down and pointed to where she wanted you to sit. I eyed the bag suspiciously.

"Saline," she explained. "We do it before and after."

I nodded as though I knew what she was talking about. You paid no attention to us, too busy looking around at the few others receiving treatment. One woman that sat across from us was completely bald, her skin not quite translucent, yet definitely thinner than it should have been. Her eyes were dull and sort of sunken into her head. She didn't smile. A younger, healthier woman sat beside her, holding her hand. I assumed it was her daughter, as they looked a bit similar. Then again, it was hard to tell when the patient looked like a living skeleton.

You weren't looking at her, however. As Elizabeta droned on about what to expect and how this would all go over, I could tell you couldn't hear her. You were watching the little boy on the other side of the room. He appeared to be much better off than the woman across from us, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, but we knew that he must have also been new to the treatments. Less than seven, I guessed, and he was sitting in the same chair you were. And I knew exactly what you were thinking. It broke my heart.

"Don't you worry, love," I whispered. "We'll all be fine."

Nothing about your lackluster response made me think you believed me. You gave me a curt nod and a tight smile. That's all. I was afraid for you.

Elizabeta hooked up all the necessary tubes and whatnot, warning you when you'd feel a pinch or a "burning sensation" that I imagined wasn't pleasant. You took it all with a blank expression. I couldn't tell if you were uncomfortable or experiencing any pain. You wouldn't tell me. All I could do, that you let me do, was hold your hand, just as the ladies across from us did. Maybe there wasn't anything else for me to do.

"I'm here for you."

I wished I could do more than simply be present, but that wasn't possible. This was a mountain you would have to climb alone. As soon as you came down, however, I'd be waiting for you.

The chemo changed you. It appeared to be such a gradual transition that I hardly recognised the signs that were there from the very start. Part of me liked to believe that the metamorphosis took weeks to fully take form. That would be easier on my conscious, anyhow. I know now that it began mere minutes after the loving Elizabeta stuck you with that needle. She was pumping you full of poison, no better than a rattlesnake's. Though I suppose it was no worse than it either.

It was all my fault and I'm so sorry.

You had no say in the matter regardless of how you went on about it being the right decision, just as quickly correcting yourself to say it was _your_ decision. This was false in every way it could possibly be. It was your damned hero complex that pushed you into killing yourself more slowly. You thought you needed to save me. How could you do that if you couldn't save yourself? And leave a man behind that loved you dearly? No hero could ever do that. They suffered to help others, so that is exactly what you would do.

The poison hung from a long metal pole next to the second bag of harmless saline. You could see through it as well as you could its lies; that is to say it took some effort as the liquid was tinted a sickly yellow-green. It made so many promises of recovery and hope it would never keep. God be damned, I fell for it. We knew the truth of the matter was that you were taking an alternative death sentence as punishment for letting me into your life at a time like this, and I hated watching you die.

As the treatment was approaching its end, the bag more than three-quarters empty, it hit you. Tearing your hand from my palm, you reached for anything you could use as a bucket and promptly buried your head in a bedpan. You didn't vomit as you thought you would. The medication cocktail they gave you beforehand made sure of that. Still, you began a fit of dry heaving, and it did not sound pleasant.

Elizabeta rushed over and knelt in front of you. "Are you alright, Alfie?"

She placed a hand on one of your knees and suddenly I was overcome with jealousy. _Alfie?_ _Only I should be able to touch you like that_. I didn't, though, because I thought you would resent me for it. You once said that you didn't want or need my pity, so I never gave it to you. I was trying to let you go through this without my help, just like you told me you wanted. You nodded in response when your nausea allowed, pulling away from her touch.

"That's normal. Don't worry about it."

Those words haunted me for several months. None of this was normal. Everything that happened from then on was strictly abnormal, caused only by a treatment you shouldn't have needed. Even after we had left the office, your behaviour was altered so slightly that I didn't notice a change at the time.

I think the child had bore a hole in your heart that I doubted you would ever recover from. You had said it yourself: many much younger than you were going through the same thing. You knew that before, but seeing it in front of your very eyes was different from thoughts you had had on it. They did not deserve to die, but neither did you, yet you harbored the guilt like a ship from the tumultuous sea, letting it reside safely inside of you where it had no business being. I could see the way it tore at you, how it wore you down. You tried not to stare at the boy so he wouldn't come back to the realisation that his health was a fragile thing. No one need be reminded of why we were all here.

You expected me to leave. At some point, you figured, I would have to grow tired of following you to your grave. Any sane person would grow resentful when they spent this much time looking after you. Perhaps it was all that time I helped my mum through her illness that better suited me to this sort of life with you. Then again, I didn't think I would have minded it anyway. No matter what, I was never going to leave you. What you had yet to realise is that I had fallen for you like the Roman Empire: slowly, then all at once.

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A/N: This chapter is short as to not linger on the more sad themes. The happier events will start up again next chapter.


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: I was getting so tired of writing and rewriting this chapter that I figured I would post this on England's birthday. Happy birthday, you angry Brit!

This chapter is dedicated to the best girlfriend I could ever ask for, OutToGarden. She is simply the sweetest and always encourages me to do my best (and wins every stupid wager I make with her). And she writes some pretty incredible USUK smut, so that's a huge bonus. Here's your update! ((You better not send me pictures of you crying no matter what happens in this chapter, or onward, for that matter. I mean it. I'll cry!))

Rainy1: Yes, it was a reference, and I'm not surprised someone got it. I was waiting for someone to ask. Thank you so much for another heartfelt review! I'm always thrilled to hear what you have to say about my work.

America: haha... you have NO idea. Just... be prepared ;)

Sarah: I hope you see this update when it's posted so I can hear what you thought about it. If you think it's an emotional rollercoaster now, just wait until you see what I have in store for the future... Thank you! Your review made me so happy. I have plenty of other storied posted, and many more in the works, so you shouldn't have run out just yet.

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We always wished we were in another place, another time. It wasn't true what they said; that children only wished to grow up as quickly as possible. You and I, we were still just scared little boys trying to find our way through the world, and yet we longed to go back. I wanted to be a an average lad growing up in England, you in America. None of the tragedy or pain of loss had happened except for losing a pet or two perhaps. But we couldn't go back to the more simple times. It wasn't possible, so we hoped that moving forward would make us happier.

Why couldn't we be content with the lives, and the moments, we were living? Were we truly so naive as to believe that a slight alteration in a man-made concept would fill us with any more contentment? Apparently. I had always felt like I could never be happy with myself right now. Maybe in the future, I'd think, but there is no such thing as an actual present, is there? Time is always progressing, so just as a moment comes upon you, it's gone again, transforming from future to past with nothing in between. That left me to wonder what the point in all of this was then.

You always lived in this imaginary world of the present. Even when you were ill from your treatments, or from your actual ailment, you found the strength to smile at me. I couldn't possibly put myself in your place to understand what you were going through and how difficult it was for you to even pull up the corner of your mouth to make me feel better. Nothing I ever came up with in my mind seemed to reflect your actual struggle, so I stopped pretending to understand and started to admire you. Every day I grew to aspire to be like you a little more. You were my hero.

We fought over petty things and had our share of raised voices. I wasn't about to pretend your illness made us the perfect couple. Each of us got upset occasionally despite you being sick, and we had to express that at times, but it was never anything too major. Someone ended up crying at some point, which was usually me. It was the only time I could do so around you without letting on how much stress the cancer put on me. I didn't want you to feel guilty about something you couldn't control. We had our days. Everyone does.

The birthday party was meant to be a distraction from all of the terrible aspects of our lives right now. I didn't care too much for that sort of thing, but seeing Francis again and meeting Matthew was rather enjoyable, if nothing else. It was so odd to meet Matthew as not only my ex's new boyfriend but also my new boyfriend's brother. All four of us had a good laugh about it upon their arrival. For a while, everything felt more normal than ever before.

"You know, Matthew, there was something Alfred wanted to tell you," I said after some time.

We were sitting around your living room, you and I next to each other, Matthew nearly sitting on Francis' lap they were so close. You glared at me, but I was not about to let you get away with not telling your brother this. I knew I was going to be confronted for it later.

"What is it? Please tell me you're alright."

You sighed. "Yeah, I'm fine. Don't worry about it. I was going to tell you later."

"Of course you were." I smiled at you a bit.

"Um... well, I'm doing the thing, like you wanted," you announced vaguely.

Matthew appeared to ponder which "thing" you were doing exactly. There must have been a few. He didn't reply, waiting for you to elaborate. I realised Matthew was your complete opposite and preferred to remain quiet whenever possible.

"You know, the _thing_."

Your brother made a confused expression. Like most things with you, this was going nowhere.

"For God's sake, Alfred has decided to undergo chemotherapy."

Everyone was quiet for several moments. It was a lot to take in and if Matthew was anything like me, he was bound to weep tears of joy. He didn't. Your brother remained silent for a while longer until you went over to embrace him. The both of you stayed like that for what seemed like eternity. When you pulled away, Matthew slapped you playfully.

"Aboot time now, eh?"

"Yeah, about time, haha."

Matthew rolled his eyes at you as though he completely expected this from his annoying brother. "What changed your mind aboot treatment?"

You resisted the urge to look at me. He was only trying to make a point, I'd learn later, and we all already knew why you made this decision. No one would believe you were putting yourself through hell just now because it suddenly occurred to you that you might want to live past twenty-one. You made up some excuse about it being the right decision; the same shit you always said. Francis winked at me, but I ignored it. I'd never been very good at communicating with him in a nonverbal manner, or at all, honestly. Whatever it was he wanted to say, he'd better tell me outright later.

"_Anyway_," you said, flopping down next to me, "the party is tomorrow and I totally know nothing else about it."

I was nervous to meet your friends. By my choice, I hadn't yet, putting it off as long as I dared, but there was no way of avoiding it tomorrow. They had arranged the entire thing, including an escort to the location. If nothing else, I could say they were very good friends to you. That, or they had something devious in mind. Either way, I was being dragged along for the ride. Hopefully the night's activities were mild enough for you to enjoy. I'd hate to see you miss out on all the fun.

By the conversation that followed, Matthew and Francis seemed indifferent toward meeting your friends, but that was probably because they were so much better at being friendly than I was. The latter, at least, never had a problem with that sort of thing, unlike me. They were staying at your apartment - you insisted on that word to describe your place - tonight and I felt rather lonely already. You would all be over here and I in my flat by myself, brooding about meeting whomever it was that liked to associate with you on a regular basis. The thought made me a tad bit melancholy.

You put your arm around my shoulders and I leaned into you. We fit together a little oddly at first, being nearly the same height and having very different body types, but we made it work over time. You kissed the top of my head gently and the little breaths you made disturbed my hair. I was going to miss all of that when you were gone. There were a lot of things I was going to miss about you when you finally left me, whether that was sooner or later. Sometimes I think you thought about those things too.

"How about you stay here tonight?" I tried to object to the quiet offer, but you were having none of my excuses. "C'mon, don't make me stay here, _alone_, with _those two_."

I smiled at Matthew, who blushed and giggled silently when Francis whispered something in his ear. Poor you, I thought, inviting the lovers into your home without knowing what you were getting yourself into. We'd never make that mistake again, I was sure.

"Well, I suppose that would be alright, then, because I'm doing you a favour."

"The biggest. Seriously, dude, I'll owe you my life."

That wasn't a phrase I enjoyed hearing from you, though it was harmless. You had already given me your life, what's left of it anyway, and even extended it just for my sake. I was constantly reminded of your mortality, and then my own. If this happened to you, could I be that far behind? What if I died tonight, or tomorrow, or next week? We were not bound to have a _Notebook _ending in which we died in each other's arms, so what would it matter if I did? Any world without Alfred F. Jones wasn't one I would dare to live in.

At least for tonight I would get to hold you close and dream of a better life for us. Even with Francis and Matthew fucking like goddamn rabbits the room over, this night couldn't be spoilt - not by them, not by anyone. I was given the opportunity to sleep by your side when some are not afforded the same luxury. What a sad existence they must lead, unable to embrace or kiss their soulmate. I took this moment to thank whatever it was that brought us together once again, if only for a short while. Neither of us had ever known a love like this and I wasn't about to take it for granted like all those other bastards. You were so precious to me.

"Goodnight, love," I sighed in content. You wiggled a little, trying to get comfortable, and made an intelligible groan. I smiled at you, though you wouldn't have seen it.

"Goodnight, Arthur. Sweet dreams."

* * *

The next morning was a blur for me now. I faintly remember a migraine making an appearance, even though you assured me it wasn't as awful as it could be, and a breakfast that was prepared by Francis after I offered to cook. You gave him a questioning look and he replied, "Whatever you do, don't let 'im in ze kitchen." A brief argument between us ensued. After that, the day was rather bland, as the activities wouldn't begin until dusk. We all wished you a happy birthday several times throughout the afternoon and I got to spend more time getting to know Matthew.

Francis never talked much about his lover over the phone, who I found out was more exciting than he had let on. Matthew was well-traveled and an ice hockey player - very good from what I understood, probably good enough to start a professional career. That was impressive, if not unexpected. He was modest about it, though, insisting he was only a beginner.

"If you're a beginner, imagine 'ow much better you will be in a few years!" Francis exclaimed. Matthew brushed off the compliment.

Apparently he had a hidden temper as well. I couldn't possibly imagine your timid brother saying a cross word to another human being, much less seriously injuring one on purpose, even if it did occur on the ice. Francis claimed he was filled with fiery passion, and that is where I let that conversation die. I needn't know anymore about their sex life than I had learnt the night before.

After that, there wasn't much to remember. Nothing too exciting occurred. Eventually, once your mate Gil rang you, we all readied ourselves for the occasion. I had to go back to my flat, but you insisted that you would still meet me, telling your friends to catch up with us there. Whatever made you happy, I went along with. You made good on your promise, and even arrived early, though Francis mentioned that you had forgotten about it sometime after I left. Matthew reminded you, so the night went on as planned.

Elizabeta was the one in charge of chauffeuring you to the location of the "surprise" party and took this job very seriously. A brunet was sitting in the passenger seat or her car when she arrived. He was a pretty, young fellow that looked like he took it up the ass quite often, but Liz introduced him as her husband, Roderich. Their marital problems made much more sense to me now. I didn't tell you so. It wasn't my place to judge, especially when it came to matters of intimacy, though I was sure Francis would agree with my assumption if he were there.

"Get in, losers. We have places to go and fun to have!" Elizabeta eyed us both in a way that made my skin crawl, as though she was trying to come up with a way to sleep with us both at once.

"Hey, lady! Eyes up here! He's mine," you said defensively whilst stepping into the car.

"What can I say, Alfie? I have a thing for well-dressed men."

"Elizabeta," Roderich interrupted in his thick Germanic accent, "that is highly inappropriate."

She rolled her eyes at him, accustomed to this sort of thing apparently, and began driving as soon as I had the door shut. The tension between Elizabeta and Roderich was obvious, and great, though you seemed oblivious to it, striking up conversation with them as easily as ever. I tried to stay out of it as long as I could. You dragged me into it sooner rather than later, and I prayed we would arrive at our destination any minute. It took longer than I had hoped.

Once we stopped at a rather busy club I had never heard of, I breathed a sigh of relief, thankful that I didn't have to subject myself to any more awkward small talk with the feuding spouses. Their argument only seemed to get worse when your mate Gilbert showed up and began hitting on Elizabeta. She didn't flatter him with any recognition, and the white-haired bloke moved on to Roderich, who blushed and defiantly insisted he was a married man.

"That didn't matter last weekend when you were sucking on my -"

Elizabeta cut in. "Not tonight, Gilbert. The only one getting laid around here is the birthday boy." You flushed red in the ears and tried to deny it. She looked at me. "Am I right?"

I skipped past the part where I realised Elizabeta and Roderich brought others into their bed to make up for the obvious mistake they had made in getting married. It was clear that they loved each other, but had very different sexual needs. That was something I would have to be amused by and ponder later. For now, I had other things to occupy my time.

"I don't know if he's earned it yet."

Roderich ignored us whilst Liz and Gil laughed. He was the louder of the two. "C'mon, you have to fuck him! It is his birthday."

"We'll see if he gets lucky."

You were stunned into silence. They chuckled again and led us to a private section that had been rented out for the occasion. Many more people sat there, jumping up to scream a happy birthday at you in what was an attempt at unison. I didn't know you had so many friends and I tried to recall the number of people you had mentioned before, coming up about nine names short of those that stood before us. You introduced me to each of them quickly. That didn't help very much. Luckily, Francis and Matthew hadn't gotten lost with the directions Gilbert gave them, so they arrived shortly after.

It came to my attention that Gil was undoubtedly very attractive when he didn't open his mouth. Loud and more awkward than he thought himself to be, he turned out exactly like I assumed. The others - Kiku, Toris, and a few whose names I couldn't remember at the time - were much more varied in personality than I could have ever guessed. You had so many friends I couldn't keep them straight in my head. Some were quiet and reserved, funny and loud, or cool and indifferent, and all of them seemed to be closer to you than I was with the few mates I had. I met each of them with a smile in place, though I became increasingly jealous of how attractive and interesting they were in comparison to me.

At some point in the night you excused yourself from the group to refill our drinks - both nonalcoholic, of course - and your friends tried to engage me, though that never really was my strong suit. They asked simple questions like how we met, how long we'd been dating, and the like. I was grateful that Elizabeta was too preoccupied with hitting on someone to ask anything close to as personal as what she had several days ago. Francis was no help either. He and Matthew were taking advantage of the dance floor, being far more graceful that I could ever be. For a while, everything felt normal. It was silly of me to think it could last.

"And what's been up with Alfie anyway?" one of them asked. "He was dodging us for months, like he didn't want to hang with us anymore, then he starts dating you and everything's fine again."

I didn't have an answer for them. You never mentioned that before. Many people tend to get closer to their friends when going through something like this, so I found it odd that you pulled away from all of them. A dozen or so pairs of eyes rested on me as they waited for a response, making me shift uncomfortably. It wasn't often that I received so much attention. I was interrupted by someone when I tried to come up with something.

"Yeah! It's like he was dying or something and didn't tell us!" they laughed. The rest of the group did as well.

My stomach clenched so tightly in my abdomen that I could have vomited. I forced a weak chuckle and excused myself for a moment, hardly able to stand. You were at the bar, just collecting our drinks when you saw me. I didn't wait for you to ask what was wrong with me. There wasn't a thing wrong with me; I wasn't the problem here.

"You didn't tell them." It wasn't a question.

"Um... no... I didn't."

"And may I ask why not? They're your friends! You ought to have told them ages ago."

"It's just..." you began, "I don't want them always bugging me about it, you know? I'm like their annoying little brother; they worry about me. If I told them, everything would change."

"Everything has already changed, hasn't it?" I remarked, though I pushed the issue no further. You followed me when I walked away.

By the time I could convince you to confess, they'd all be too drunk to remember anyway, so I dropped the subject. It was better that way. You spent as much time with them as you could before the majority was slurring their words and shouting suggestions of going to watch the fireworks. I had forgotten it was America's Independence Day (a ridiculously pointless holiday, as they should have just remained with England) and not just your birthday. You treated it as though it were all part of a celebration for you, however, excitedly going along with what they wanted and pretending it wasn't your desire as well. I only wished to remove myself from the vicinity of Francis and Matthew, who were grinding against each other in the most tasteless, though passionate, of ways. Part of me wished you'd have asked me to dance like that with you.

Fireworks were never quite my cup of tea. They were loud, obnoxiously so, and painful to watch at times, they were so bright. Then again, so we're you. Although from this distance, they were rather nice. You plopped down in the grass and patted the spot next to you. I couldn't believe you'd ruin your perfectly nice clothes like that, with the dirt and all that, but what did it really matter, you asked me. Sometimes you made a valid point. I sat down. You continually moved closer until our hands barely brushed.

"Come here, idiot," I fussed after a while. I let you lay your head in my lap and ran my fingers through your hair as you watched the display of explosions. I couldn't take my eyes off of you.

"I didn't drink, in case you were wondering."

I hadn't asked, though I was curious. "Yes, I noticed. Why is that?"

"Well, for one, Doc would kill me. Two, you would totally have my ass - and not in the good way." You paused to chuckle at your own joke. I humoured you by laughing too. "And three, I didn't want to say anything stupid."

"It's too late for that, now isn't it?" I said in all seriousness.

You looked up at me with a wide grin in place. "Hey!"

"I'm only kidding, love."

You were oddly silent for several moments. "I like that."

"What? Me kidding?"

"No," you answered. "'Love'. Speaking of which -"

Something possessed me to explain the pet name to you so you wouldn't think I was too serious about us. I panicked a bit. "It's nothing really, just a thing we say, when, um -"

You interrupted me. "Arthur, I'd really like to finish my sentence this time. You always say something when I try to tell you, or hang up on me before I said it." It was playful how you said this, and you were laughing. I blushed, embarrassed from having cut you off mid sentence.

"My apologies, Alfred. Get on with it, then."

"I love you."


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: I don't remember if I responded to all the reviews on the last few chapters, so I'd like to thank those of you who did. Seriously, every comment, no matter what it is, brightens my day and totally pumps me up to write the next chapter. Y'all are the best.

Rainy1 - your continued support means so much to me. You're my favourite reviewer (don't tell the others) because you always give me feedback. I CRAVE feedback like nothing else. Part of the reason I even update at all is due to OutToGarden, who forces me to write even when I don't want to. Your reviews are definitely another part of that!

America-San - Omg you are so incredible! Thank you SO MUCH for your lovely review. Oh god, you think CHAPTER 4 was heartbreaking. Hun, I've some news for you... Anyway, thank you for the beautiful things you've said about this story. I put more thought and effort into it than I can tell you. It's bordering on embarrassing, honestly. I can't wait to hear what you think about everything else you read. Greetings from America! (My German is terrible, so I'm not going to even attempt to say something in it) See you as well!

* * *

You loved me. That was not implausible, nor was it ever, but for whatever reason I had thought it was. I was elated, though my stunned silence had to have been a concern to you. After a few seconds, you sat up. Now that I think about it, it could have come across as a rejection. Yes, it most definitely did. Oh well.

"How many times have you tried to say that before, Alfred?"

It was not the response you were hoping for. You looked both terrified and mortified, rubbing the back of your head nervously. I'd soothe your worries later. Right now, well, I was more concerned with how long you'd been trying to tell me you loved me. This was far more pressing, and you would understand shortly.

"Uh, I dunno, man," you said in noncommittal way. "At least three, but probably more."

I laughed so loudly you flinched. "Don't I just feel silly now."

"What?"

"I thought you didn't love me."

"And? I don't understand," you said, hoping this would eventually make sense.

"I love you, too, idiot."

You smiled so broadly I feared you'd tear something in you face, and nearly tackled me to the ground like an excited pup. We were rolling around in the grass, reveling in this moment, while the rest of the world went on as it always had and always would. The fireworks lit up your face red, white, and blue as you kissed me. I didn't even hear them explode.

"Calm down, you..." You shut me up with another kiss.

"No! You love me!"

"Of course I do. Now get off of me."

I had to push you away to save myself from being bombarded by kisses and other forms of affection. You had never been so loving in a physical sense, so it surprised me when you continued to hold my hand and press your lips to my knuckles. It was nice, if I were to be perfectly honest.

There will never be a proper set of words to describe how wonderful a feeling it was to know you loved me as well. It was like winning the lottery, but a hundred times in a row. It was like watching the royal wedding, except you were the prince and I was standing next to you at the alter. It was like... getting everything I had ever wanted. God, wasn't it fantastic to feel something like this. I hope you felt like that.

Somehow, against all odds, we had found each other. Let us not concern ourselves with how we would part one day, and instead think about all of the life we had left to share. How often does one happen across their soulmate as though such things occur everyday? Not often, you reminded me at times.

We sat there for a while, until a nasty looking bunch of clouds obscured the few stars that were usually visible. A storm was rolling in and the fireworks were postponed due to the weather. You dragged me back to your inebriated mates just to bid them farewell and to make sure they got taxis to take them home, knowing Gil would claim he was "good to drive". We made it home before the rain began to pour, walking the whole way hand in hand. I can't remember what we talked about, but I'm not sure it really matters.

The rest of the night would be spent with just the two of us. That's exactly how I wanted it to be.

A A A

Thunderstorms were always my favourite, if you recall. At times, a simple rain would do the trick, soothing my restless soul that longed for a place far away, but these were different. The way the thunder roared so it shook entire cities left me in awe, if not also slightly terrified. It felt dangerous, yet it was calming to listen to. The sound it made was purer than any other I could think of.

I wasted countless hours sitting at the window and watching the crystalline rain droplets race each other down the panes of glass. It was something I enjoyed, even as a young lad. Sometimes they converged into a single, more steady stream which ran faster than those that attempted the journey alone. Other times the droplets trickled down until there was nothing left.

Lightning lit up the world in a way I would never understand. How could something so fleeting like the solitary strike turn night into day for a brief moment? My mum once told me that the brighter something burned, the more quickly it went out. I learnt that this applied to many things, including human life. The more brilliant a person was, the sooner they were gone. That is what happened to Mum. That's what was happening to you.

I don't know if you remember, but it rained that night. It was a thunderstorm that raged throughout the darkest hours and filled me with joy. The thunder made my flat rattle so that even I feared it would fall to pieces, and we were guided only by the light of sporadic bursts of lightning. That is when I took your hand in mine and knew that I would never love another being for the rest of my life. Not like this. You were mine and I was yours. Forever.

Your eyes were illuminated for less than a second and I looked up at you in wonderment, still shocked that someone as fantastic as you wanted me in their life. You were something I had never even seen coming, and I think that is part of what made you so great. In that moment, with the pad of your thumb caressing my cheek and our bodies separated by nothing but a shred of willpower, I had never been more grateful that someone knocked me over in the middle of the street.

"I love you," I sighed against your lips like I was making a wish.

"I love _you_, Arthur."

Neither of us needed to say a word. We had discussed sex beforehand, as in many weeks before, and agreed it was something best left out of our relationship until the time was right. That moment had never come to pass. For whatever reason, now appeared to be exactly the right time.

We took our time to undress, sneaking in little pecks here and there when we weren't giggling like children. Our foreheads bumped a few times in the overzealous manner in which we conducted ourselves. When you chuckled because of it, my heart beat even faster in my chest. You were always smiling at me and I couldn't believe that all of this - you and our life together - was real. I think I began to smile, too, more than I thought.

You kissed my neck and I was reminded that you were, in fact, very real. It remained unbelievable, yet completely plausible, and I knew I'd spoil the moment by overanalyzing the situation, so I let go. I did it for you. Perhaps I finally did something for me as well.

"Make love to me," I whispered, "like it's _my_ last time."

You kissed that spot just below my ear. "Only if you promise to give it to me like it's my first."

"I can do that."

The feel of your hand trailing down my side set me alight. I melded into you until we were like one entity and we shared this moment as though we lived it in the same way. You were stroking me so gently I could have burst. _Faster_, I wanted to beg. _Harder_. But you were a part of me and knew what I wanted. I'd have to settle with grinding against your thigh when your hands moved to cup my arse.

If I remember correctly, which I do, we never made it to the bed. In our haste I knocked you to the floor right beside it, though you did not seem to notice any difference, and started kissing you anywhere I could. Your fingers were knotted in my hair by the time I made it to your cock. I didn't have the patience for a lot of foreplay, so I licked the shaft without any hint of teasing and took you into my mouth until you were hard. You were lucky this time. I wouldn't be so straightforward the next time I took you into (or rather, next to) my bed.

You asked for a condom and I reached over you to pull one from the nightstand drawer along with a new bottle of lube. It had been... awhile since my last encounter. There was never anything sensual about putting a condom on or having someone's fingers probing your arse, but there was plenty of love exchanged between us. I could see it in your eyes and wondered how I never recognised that look before. You had been in love with me this entire time.

I figured since I was already straddling you and you were inside of me, we would continue on with me riding you, but you had other plans. Several minutes into it, you flipped us so that I was now lying on the floor. The abrupt change in position had my head spinning. I was nearly slammed against the nightstand.

"Oi! Careful, idiot."

You kissed my lips apologetically. "Sorry, sweetheart."

"Sweetheart?"

"Honey. Dear. Love. Whatever." That fucking smile drove me mad. You set back to kissing my neck, then my chest. I instantly forgot about the concussion you almost gave me.

It was evident by the way you thrust inside of me after that you were unsure of what we were doing. Everything seemed to be moving so quickly, but was it really? The fact that it took us this long to end up between the sheets surprised me. I lifted my hips to match your rhythm, hoping to communicate that I loved what you were doing - what _we _were doing. You still worried.

"You're not hurting me, love." I reached out to touch your face, ran my fingers through your hair, and kissed you softly.

You grinned at me. What a brilliant sight that was. "What if this is a mistake?" Nothing about your demeanor told me you thought this was true, still sliding gently in and out of me.

"It's not," I stated, and that must have been good enough for you.

For a while longer, you and I continued where we left off. That was the first time we made love and it was absolutely perfect in every way. We fell asleep soon after, and the storm raged on, shaking the building like a thunderous round of applause. You kissed my forehead before I slipped into a wonderful night's sleep in your arms. Not once did I think about what the future had in store for us.

When we awoke in the morning, I didn't have time to even say good morning before you shared a rather strange idea with me. You were hesitant to ask, unsure whether or not I would go along with it, having known me long enough to discover I was normally very practical. However that may be, I was powerless to resist your baby blues and long blond lashes that bat so irresistibly in pleading.

"Let's do something spontaneous," you blurted out.

"Good morning to you too, love." I yawned into my fist. "No migraine?"

"Ugh, no, forget that. Let's do something we wouldn't normally do - something you'd _never_ do in a million years." The words fell from your mouth as though the thought would disappear if you didn't use them quickly enough.

"What did you have in mind?"

There were stars in your eyes. "Get dressed in something nice - really nice - and meet me downtown."

You pecked me once on the nose and leapt out of bed, dressing quickly so you could go home. I didn't get to admire your form for long, as you were determined to do whatever it was you had set your mind to. Several times you tripped over your own feet and I laughed, though you were unamused. Apparently this was important to you, so I began to get up as well.

"Where downtown?"

"Where we first met. You have an hour. Let's go!"

I wanted to ask more questions, to at least get a hint as to what we were about to do, but you were already bolting out the door with an "I love you" trailing behind. Despite not knowing what we were doing, I showered and dressed nicely, as requested. Maybe we were going on a real first date, though I didn't know what we could possibly do this early in the day. We would have some much needed alone time after last night and I was looking forward to it. What I didn't know is that you were recruiting Francis and Matthew to help out with this surprise as well.

Roughly an hour later, I arrived at the intersection where you ran into me and waited. Having come early, I expected to wait a few minutes, but not over another half hour. You were late. Again. I rolled my eyes, crossed my arms, and leant against the wall behind me so I could wait. I suppose you didn't keep me in suspense for too long, as you were jogging toward me in a suit shortly thereafter with a beam plastered on your face. I was worried you would slip on the pavement that was still wet with rain from the night previous. When you stopped some feet away, you looked at your watch and the smile vanished.

"Oh, man. I'm sorry, Arthur! It took longer than I thought!"

"Honestly, I had thought you'd forgotten. What took you so long?"

You held up a finger that told me to wait a moment and began digging through your pockets for something. "It's in here somewhere, haha."

"Don't tell me you lost the blasted thing."

With a chuckle, you said, "No way! This is too important to lose."

It appeared that you found the item you were looking for, but you didn't take it out. I raised an eyebrow at you. You sort of smiled back, having become nervous all of the sudden. You cleared your throat.

"The last few months have been the best of my entire life." I wondered how awful your existence had to have been before to warrant our time together as the best. "I know what I'm about to ask you is totally stupid, but sometimes we have to follow our hearts, right?"

"Yes, I suppose so. What are you getting at?"

"We both know I don't have much time left, but I would like to spend every second of it with you," you announced, dropping to one knee. My heart stopped. You fished out the ring, a beautiful little silver thing, from your pocket and brandished it in front of me. "Arthur Kirkland, will you marry me?"

My head started to spin and I briefly thought that I might be having the best post-sex dream I'd ever had. I was grinning like an idiot. "Get off the ground. You'll ruin your suit like that," I said playfully.

You stood up and brushed off your pant leg. The wet ground left a dark mark on your knee. "So?"

I pulled you into a kiss by your tie. "Yes, you imbecile. I'll marry you."

"Oh my god, I didn't think you'd actually say yes!" Your eyes lit up. "Let's go!" You grabbed my hand, slipped the ring on my finger, and began to pull me toward something, all in one fluid motion.

"Right now?"

"Yeah, right now! We don't want to be late for our own wedding!"

The last thing I had expected to do today was get married. I thought your birthday party and meeting your mates was all the excitement I was going to get out of this weekend. How terribly wrong I was. We had all sorts of firsts within a twenty-four hour period and I was still in shock that you had told me you loved me, much less we get fucking married. Bloody hell, what are we doing?

"Alfred, do you really think this is a good idea? We haven't even talked about any of the things couples ought to before getting married."

You were prepared for this inevitable discussion. It took a few moments to straighten out the things you wanted to say, like mentally sorting index cards with information for a speech written on them. After a deep breath, you took off on a tangent I didn't expect.

"I love kids, but I don't need them if you don't want them. If we do have kids, I want more than one so they aren't lonely. We can stay at your place, if you want. I'll leave most of my stuff at mine. I don't really like the suburbs, so I prefer we don't move out of the city. I'm flexible, though. I'd really like a dog or a cat, but I don't think we really have the time for one right now.

"I leave for work at five-thirty. I will shower before bed so I don't wake you up. You like tea, so I won't leave the coffee pot on. I'll always be home in time for dinner unless I got hit by a car or abducted by aliens.

"We don't have to socialise with other couples unless you want to. I know you think they're annoying. No double dates required - ever. Um..." You paused the constant stream of information to think of what other important things we should discuss.

Something about the way you ordered the items on your list told me many things about your character. Even after all your family had put you through, you still put them first. I loved that. You had a much more forgiving nature than I did, so perhaps that meant you completed me in this way as well. If you could set all of those problems aside for your children, and for me, that meant the world to me.

I figured I should give my opinions. "We can have two children, but not now. We'll discuss living arrangements later. We don't have to move to the suburbs. You may have a cat. Neither of our flats allows dogs. I leave for work at six, so you do not need to worry about waking me up. Please don't get hit by a car or abducted by aliens, even if you do make it to dinner on time. And thank you. I hate double dates; they're far more awkward than they are enjoyable."

You smiled at me. "I knew you were perfect."

Though I knew I was far from perfect, that statement made me blush. Relationships are about compromise, so I am sure we could work out all of the other things along the way. I was just so happy that you wanted to marry me as much as I always had wanted to marry you.

We arrived at City Hall in almost no time. My hands shook as we filled out all the marriage registration forms, but I didn't for even one second consider that I could say no. There was not a single doubt in my mind about us. We were going to get married if it killed me. It must have been a riot to watch us scramble for information like our parents' maiden names and places of birth. I wouldn't know, as I was too busy wondering how I got to this place in my life.

Luckily for us, receiving a marriage license in our city was as easy as asking for it. We wouldn't have to wait the 3 days, or even weeks, to be approved. In mere minutes, we could be legally wed and the thought terrified me. I was still a child. _You_ were even more so. So why did any of us think this was a good idea?

Matthew and Francis arrived several minutes after we did. They spent the first moments congratulating us on our engagement and I scowled at Francis. He had to have something to do with this, I thought. Little did I know, he was as blindsided by your proposal as I was. In fact, you later told me that he advised against the shotgun wedding. "Arthur deserves better zan zis," he exclaimed. Our relationship was so odd I couldn't help but to wonder when he became my elder brother as opposed to my ex lover.

Of course, _we _deserved better, but what were we to do? I wasn't about to plan a large wedding set to happen in months when no one knew if the groom was still going to be alive. Regardless, I was going to wed my soulmate and I believe you felt very similarly.

"So," Matthew said, "you're actually doing this."

You rolled your eyes. "I love Arthur, Mattie. This makes me happy." You then squeezed my hand as though asking for reassurance.

"And me as well, love."

"See?" You signed the last bit of paperwork and jumped up. "Let's get married!"

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P.s. OutToGarden is to blame for these continuous cliffhangers because she hates them so much


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: Because I know I won't get anything done without some incentive, here is (less than) half a chapter. The rest will follow shortly. I promise I am alive and all of my stories will continue to update, so no worries. You can follow my fanfiction Tumblr a-n-clara for updates on posting and whatever else. Not even low key begging for reviews anymore (I'm needy, guys). Enjoy this much awaited update that sat in my drafts for over four months before I had motivation to write.

Rainy1 - Ahhhh, thank you so much! I thrive on attention and every review gives me motivation to write more, so thank you, AGAIN (you're the real MVP). This story ended up being like 90% fluff and 10% angst, when it was flipped before. You can thank OutToGarden for that. Otherwise, haha, everyone would probably be dead. (Speaking of her, I know she's reading this, so hey, honey! Did you see what they said? I have a way with romance ;) *eyebrow wiggle*) I really like how this turned out because you're absolutely right! It's a story about celebrating life and love, even when it gets hard. Let me know what you think about what comes next :D

XXShyNightmareXX - Your words are so beautiful. Feel free to shower me with adoration and compliments ;) Tbh, this is only realistic because I write about real life situations I've experienced. It is wayyyy out of my comfort zone to write about things I know nothing about. Mushy, romantic relationship? Check. Awkward sexual encounter? Check. Cries over everything? Double check. Thank you so much and I hope I hear from you again!

Diaflower - I'm sorry about the cliffhangers, but I can't promise there won't be any more. I'm so happy you like this, I could cry. Thank you for your review :)

As always, this chapter is dedicated to my girlfriend, OutToGarden, who is my inspiration, and truly the love of my life.

* * *

You and I were simply meant to be. I tried to explain it to you once or twice, you tried to explain the identical feeling right back, and even though we both felt _it_, it wasn't something easily expressed in words. How could you make a bunch of meaningless sounds into this... What even was it? It couldn't be a feeling. I knew what those were.

Every second with you felt like Christmas morning as a child. I was happy and excited about life and what was in store for us, no matter how bleak it appeared right now. Getting through the day didn't feel like just _getting through_ it anymore. Waking up was something I enjoyed doing because at some point in the near future, I would get to see you.

I never understood the desire to plaster someone's face everywhere until you set yours as the lock screen on my mobile, and then it hit me. When you weren't with me, seeing the ridiculously adorable selfie reminded me that I would be coming home to that beautiful man. I could miss you more than anything else, and feel better knowing I was so in love with that stupid face, and you loved me almost as much, too. We knew it was just the honeymoon phase, but something about us made me think that this feeling would last. I know you thought that as well.

This feeling was as different as you were. Whatever it was, I could only begin to describe it as a sixth sense of some sort. I could feel that we were meant to be together and that is the closest I ever came to cracking the mystery behind it. We were a preordained combination known by every fibre of my being. At this point, maybe I was beginning to believe in the idea of everyone having that one special person they are destined to spend their lives with. As always, I would never share this with you. Some things - minute, insignificant facts like this - were better left as small personal secrets, even if we were getting married.

You mentioned a while ago that your favourite myth explained soulmates as a person split in two. Humans weren't a threat to the gods anymore if they spent their lives trying to find their other half, so they always felt like something was missing without the person that would make them complete. That came precariously close to describing how I felt with you.

This isn't to say there was a part of me missing before. I was whole, and I do not think anyone needs someone else to complete them, especially those who seem to thrive without the distraction of love, which blinds you whether or not you're prepared. However that may be, you ignited something inside me that had either been extinguished long ago, or had never burned at all. Perhaps I was candle, meant to be lit and snuffed repeatedly throughout my life, and you, the source of the flame.

We had to be together or I felt I couldn't survive. You said it wasn't dramatic when I mentioned this once, though it was, and completely mad. I thought it was silly at first. _How did I live this long without you, then?_ I'd ask myself. That is when I reconsidered my view on life.

Was what I was doing before really considered living? I'd sit alone and mock people in my head, or spend all my time working, or reading. Nothing was wrong with the latter two, to an extent. But where was my human interaction? Even the most solitary beings need companionship, whether from another human or a pet perhaps. I had nothing. No one. Occasionally, Francis was there to remind me I had someone to care about me, but even then, he had a life with Matthew and very little time for me. Even my acquaintances, who I can only call that and not friends, were not enough to keep me from feeling lonely.

And then there was you. Alfred F. Jones, who burned more brightly than the sun and stars in heaven. The most kind, loving, generous person I had ever had the pleasure of knowing, and you wanted me. You who so openly accepted me into your life when you insisted on making up for a minor mistake with coffee. My hero. Your innocent smile was so sweet it gave me cavities, though I could not even pretend to mind. There were so many lucky enough to take place by your side; friends, a brother, a new family. Me.

That is why, when it came to the vows, and we were both standing there weeping, that I asked: why me? It didn't make a bit of sense to me. You were so perfect, while I... Well, we all knew exactly what I was like. An arse, mostly. Then again, you were forgetful. In fact, you said you felt like you forgot something "very important" as we prepared to start the ceremony. You probably chose not to remember the bad things about me then.

Your tear stained face dropped for a second. "Why you...?" But you always understood me, so you smiled again, more meaningfully this time. "What can I say, Arthur? You stole my heart."

"I'm no thief," I remarked, and you chuckled. "You went and threw the blasted thing at me."

Matthew grinned happily over your shoulder, seeming to enjoy our playful, loving banter. His approval meant so much to me. I couldn't wait to call him my brother as well. Actually, I could wait. I wanted to stop time, just for a little while, though I probably wouldn't be satisfied with anything less than forever. We could wait here like this for as long as I lived and I'd be content. There is nothing I'd rather see than your smiling face every second for the rest of my days, and _that_ is why I wanted to marry you. You gave my life purpose, filling it with joy and light. It was selfish of me to marry you so that you would be bound to me forever, but then again, it was you who asked me. I simply accepted.

"You know, Arthur, I always say these things about how I'm the hero." You reached out to brush a tear from my cheek during this pause. "But from the moment we met, you're the one that saved me."

I don't think I've ever cried so hard in my entire life. The poor officiant hadn't a clue one of the grooms was dying, so this normally sweet moment seemed blown out of proportion by how three of us began bawling, and he was evidently startled by it. Only Francis kept his wits about him, taking hold of Matthew's hand in support. He hurriedly waved the officiant on. While he loved weddings more than the rest of us combined, it was getting rather ridiculous.

"Do you, Alfred, take Arthur to be your lawfully wedded husband in sickness and in health, for better or worse, as long as you both shall live?"

The condensed vows were of little bother to any of us, as we just wanted to be done with it. You were crying more than Matthew and I both, so hard, in fact, that you could only nod and stutter out something the officiant accepted as "I do".

"And do you, Arthur, take Alfred to be your lawfully wedded husband in sickness and in health, for better or worse, as long as you both shall live?"

"I do."

"By the power vested in me… you may kiss."

With that kiss, I had married the man of my dreams. The first thing I expected you to say was something along the lines of "I love you, Arthur," but that was not the case. You got this panicked look in your eye and instead of expressing the insurmountable love for your new husband, you said;

"Oh, shit. Liz is going to kill me."

You forgot to invite her.


End file.
